A Line's Progress
by ILoveToChin25
Summary: A seventh year story in which Draco has issues, Harry has bouts of insomnia, and they both share a strange, dysfunctional relationship. Post Deathly Hallows, disregards epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling, or various affiliates. As I'm sure you've figured out…**

**Author's Note: This is a seventh year, post Deathly Hallows, Draco-centric fic. This story will be much slower paced than Dirty Business, and the actual slash will probably not start for some time. But there will be plenty of build up, no worries. **

**I have quite a bit written already, so I'll try posting a chapter a week until I'm finished. Anyway, thanks for reading, and enjoy.**

Chapter One

Draco scowled into his treacle tart and wondered for the second time in so many hours why he had decided to come back for another year at Hogwarts. After all, it wasn't as though any of his friends were there - Pansy, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, along with all other Slytherins from his year, were gone, as were all the other children of Death Eaters. And Crabbe (_Crabbe_…a part of his brain cried out, inconsolable) was gone forever.

Draco glanced around surreptitiously at his fellow Slytherins. He didn't know why _any _of them had come back, to be honest. The majority of them were slouched down in their seats, as if trying to disappear, while others simply stared blankly around the Great Hall, occasionally finding something to scowl at darkly.

They all ignored Draco, which was fine by him, all except for a few first years who didn't know any better. The first years were also the only Slytherins who were happily chattering and laughing, behaving like the children they were.

The atmosphere of the Great Hall was exuberant otherwise, particularly at the Gryffindor table. A large entourage milled around Potter and his friends, and in spite of himself, Draco found himself watching Potter, watching the way he occasionally nodded before ducking his head in an almost sheepish manner and smiling. Draco bristled at what he knew was Potter's false modesty, yet continued to watch him, absentmindedly taking bites of his treacle tart all the while.

Then Potter looked up, still laughing at something somebody had said, and for just a moment his eyes locked with Draco's, the smile still tugging his lips upward. Draco froze, his heartbeat abnormally fast, and quickly looked down. When Draco finally looked back up, Potter was once again laughing at something - probably something Weasley had said, if Granger's disapproving frown was any indication - and was not looking in Draco's direction any longer.

Fucking Potter. As if it weren't bad enough that he'd saved Draco's life once, _twice_, all as if it meant nothing; now Draco owed him his freedom, his mother's freedom, the Manor…_everything_, basically. And still, Potter had yet to say so much as a word to him, to acknowledge him in any way. He hadn't even offered to give Draco his wand back.

Not that it mattered, really. Draco wasn't even sure that the wand would still work for him, having shifted its allegiance to Potter. Much like everyone else these days. But still, it was the principle of the thing. Potter could at least acknowledge, somewhat, that Draco had played a part in ending the war, however inadvertent and unintentional it had been. Draco knew he had failed in every way possible during the war, but at least he had that, didn't he?

Draco remembered huddling between his parents after Voldemort's death, his father embracing him for the first time in years, his mother rocking him back and forth as if he were an infant. The acrid smell of smoke still clung to his robes, stinging his eyes - which, he told himself, was the reason for the tears nearly welling to the surface. So it was almost a relief when he saw Potter headed his way, and he broke free from his parents, told them he'd be right back.

Draco had had no idea what he'd say to Potter, but knew he had to say something. And it really didn't matter, either. He just needed some sort of closure.

"Potter!" he'd called out, his voice still hoarse from smoke, and from screaming. Screaming in Potter's ear, he reminded himself dully.

Potter kept walking, not so much as glancing at Draco, mere feet away from him.

Draco glared at him as he left, yet was unable to keep the smallest amount of hurt from rising to the surface. Draco and Potter had been best enemies for years - had Draco really fallen so far that he was now beneath Potter's very notice?

Draco clenched his fists at the memory. Fuck Potter. He was obviously the same self-righteous prick as before, and Draco was happy to be rid of his attentions.

"Hello, Draco," an oddly lilting, dreamy voice said suddenly, interrupting Draco's Potter-based musings.

Draco nearly dropped his fork. "What do you want, Loony?" he snapped, inwardly cursing himself at how easily his composure was lost these days.

Luna smiled, seemingly unfazed by Draco's harsh tone. She patted his arm, ignoring the incredulous looks the other Slytherins were giving her.

"It's good to see you, Draco. If you don't mind my saying, you seem to be getting some of your color back. You seemed pretty sickly a few months ago. I thought maybe you'd been bitten by a Knargle...my dad says they aren't poisonous, but I always feel a bit lightheaded when one comes near."

Draco swallowed, unbidden nausea creeping up his throat. He could hardly stand to look at her. "Why are you talking to me?" Draco asked in a whisper, staring at his plate.

Luna blinked in confusion. "Why wouldn't I?"

Draco snorted, glancing furtively around. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

"I don't know. Maybe because you were imprisoned in my home for months on end?" he snapped as quietly as possible. He sneered at her. "Back for revenge, Loony? Is that what this is about?"

"Oh, I know you didn't _want _to keep me prisoner, Draco. Just like my dad didn't want to hand Harry and the others over to Voldemort. I know he still feels quite horrible about it. But sometimes even good people do things that aren't so good, just because they don't have any other choice." She smiled at him again. "You were very nice to me whenever I saw you, you know."

"I'm not nice," Draco said crossly. "Or good. So just leave me alone, please. Shouldn't you be sitting with Potter and his many admirers?" The question came out more petulantly than intended, and Draco couldn't help but wince.

"Harry has a lot of people to sit with," she said in her infuriatingly dreamy voice. "And you don't have anyone."

"By choice," Draco said pointedly, feeling slightly put-off by Luna's blatant honesty. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Luna's smile never left her face. Then, ignoring the somewhat hostile glares from a few of the Slytherins, she spooned a generous helping of chocolate mousse onto a plate, humming softly to herself and twirling her hair between her fingers.

"Mmm, this is quite good. Would you like some?"

"No," Draco said quietly, looking down at his plate. Damn Loony to hell.

"Sometime I'll have to let you try Muquack fudge. It's made by the Muquacks who live in Sweden. They're very friendly if you know how to talk to them, but you shouldn't let them around anything shiny."

Draco sighed, a smile playing on his lips in spite of himself. "Loony, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

Luna just gave him a sympathetic smile, as if _he _was the crazy one, then patted his arm again before turning her attention back to her chocolate mousse, humming all the while.

Draco found his attention shifting, once again, towards the Gryffindor table. Towards Potter. This time Potter was quiet, staring almost contemplatively down at his fingers as his friends continued to laugh boisterously around him. Draco frowned. What the hell was the matter with him? Not that he cared, but really…

"Oh, look," Luna said suddenly, interrupting Draco's thoughts once again. She nodded towards the front of the Great Hall. "I think Professor McGonagall is going to make a speech."

McGonagall, looking poised and stern as ever, put up a hand to indicate the students' silence, resulting in sudden, overwhelming quiet. Even the first years watched her in awe, as if sensing innately that she was someone to be obeyed.

"Good evening, students," she said, her voice clearly amplified by a _sonorous _spell. "And welcome to what I'm sure will be a most productive year at Hogwarts. As I'm sure you're all aware, we've undergone some…changes since last term. I'm sure I don't have to go into all the details, but suffice it to say, I will be taking over in the position of Headmistress." This announcement was met by thunderous applause from the Gryffindor table and moderate applause elsewhere. She put up a hand again after a moment, nodding indulgently at the Gryffindors. "Professor Flitwick," she continued, "will be taking over my duties as the Deputy Headmaster." Applause from the Ravenclaws. Luna put a hand to her mouth and let out a piercing whistle, causing Draco to slump further into his seat.

"As I'm sure you're aware," McGonagall continued once more, "my duties as Headmistress will make it quite impossible to fulfill the obligations as Head of Gryffindor, though I will continue to teach Transfiguration until the position is otherwise filled. In the meantime, I'd like to introduce you to our new Head of Gryffindor, as well as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Percy Weasley."

This announcement was met with mixed applause everywhere. Draco groaned, watching in dismay as Percy Weasley nodded his carroty head curtly at the students. Draco remembered him vaguely from a few years ago, but couldn't be sure, as all the Weasleys looked the same to him. It was simply the fact that it was a Weasley teaching him.

McGonagall continued to drone on and on for several minutes, spouting surprisingly sentimental drivel on how they all needed to unite in order to rebuild the school, the world. The sanctimonious bitch even appeared to become slightly misty eyed as she spoke of the sacrifices that had been made by so many. And though she didn't mention Harry Potter by name, she made a point of looking in his direction several times during her speech.

Draco scowled once more, glancing in Potter's direction again. Potter continued to stare forward, obviously enthralled by McGonagall's none-too-subtle boot licking. Draco rolled his eyes.

"You sure do look at Harry a lot," Luna whispered, leaning so close that her blond hair brushed over his shoulders.

Startled, Draco nearly jumped out of his seat. "I do not!" he snapped, attempting to steady his breathing. He tugged at his collar, the air suddenly humid beyond comfort.

"And if I do," he hissed after a moment of gathering his composure, "it's no more than anyone else looks at him."

Luna just smiled enigmatically. "Okay, Draco," she replied.

Finally, McGonagall seemed to be wrapping things up, and Draco couldn't help but give a sigh of relief. At long last he could have some quiet, a moment in which it didn't feel as if the world was trying to smother him, a moment without Luna speaking uncomfortable truths, without Potter mocking him with his very presence.

"…so I'll be speaking with the following students in my office: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Draco Malfoy. Everyone else please report to your respective dormitories, and have a good night, all of you." She nodded primly at them before departing the Great Hall.

Draco's mouth was dry as he walked out of the Great Hall with Luna. "What the hell could she want?" he asked Luna desperately, clumsily wiping his sweaty palms over his robes. "I haven't even done anything!"

Luna looked at him curiously. "You really should calm down, Draco. It isn't good for you." She smiled at him, then skipped ahead to join Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

"Let's wait for Draco," he heard her say to them, and Draco found himself wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Malfoy?" Weasley scoffed. "Why the hell should we wait for him? That ferrety git…I can't believe he's not in Azkaban where he belongs, with his dear old dad…ow!" Weasley gingerly rubbed his ribs in the spot where Granger had just elbowed him. "Oy, Hermione!"

"Shut up, he's right behind us!" Granger snapped.

Potter and Weasley turned around simultaneously - Weasley blushing a deep crimson, Potter looking uncomfortable.

Despite the blood draining from his face, Draco drew himself up and sneered in response. "I see some things never change," he drawled, hoping the slight tremor to his voice was only his imagination. "Granger still seems to have a firm hold on your balls, Weasley. I guess Mummy got tired of holding them for you?"

Luna guffawed in response, leaning on Granger's shoulder for support.

Weasley snorted. "Death Eater piece of shit. You're the one who'll never change. You'll always be the same evil, ferret faced-"

"Ron, just stop!" Potter said suddenly, amazingly. Draco drew in his breath unwittingly. _Look at me, look at me_ he commanded Potter silently, but Potter's eyes, which had once flashed in constant, titillating anger towards Draco, now seemed elusive, pointed everywhere but at him.

"Just stop," Potter repeated, looking tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a headache. He sighed. "We've all had a shit year, so let's just go see what McGonagall wants and…I don't know…get on with our lives or something." He continued walking, the others following behind in dejected silence save for Luna, who hummed dreamily under her breath as they walked.

Draco noticed the way Potter's shoulder blades shifted beneath his robes, noticed the white of Potter's neck underneath his unruly hair. He glared at his back, remembering the time Potter had tackled him in fifth year, punched him in the stomach….he certainly hadn't ignored him _then_. But Draco supposed he'd been a worthy opponent back then, unlike the useless paragon of failure he now knew himself to be.

Oh, who was he kidding, he scoffed to himself. He'd never been Potter's worthy opponent, or even close. Potter had bested him at every opportunity back then, and continued to do so now. Even his own wand preferred Potter these days…

He supposed Potter must have uttered the password to McGonagall's office at some point, because the gargoyle was swinging open, revealing the new Headmistress sitting behind a large, mahogany desk. Draco glanced around at the portraits, gulping nervously as he spotted Dumbledore, who winked at him before stepping out of view.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I asked you here," McGonagall began, easily conjuring five chairs and motioning for them to sit. She leaned back slightly, clasping her hands in front of her. "But all of you, with the exception of Miss Lovegood, are rather unique at the moment, as you can hardly be considered seventh year students, yet that, technically, is what you are. And you're also adults, not only in the Wizarding world, but in the Muggle world as well, as I'm sure you're aware, Miss Granger." She gave Granger a curt, tight-lipped smile, causing Granger to shift in her seat and beam proudly.

"So I could hardly throw you in with the current seventh years, who by all rights should be a year behind you. And I'm well aware, Mr. Malfoy," she nodded at him, causing him to shrink reflexively into his chair, "that there may be some…tension between you and the other students in your House, am I correct?"

Draco shrugged, looking at the floor. "I suppose."

"So what I propose to do, as you're all adults in a unique situation, is give you some additional freedom. And with this freedom, of course, is my wish that you'll behave as the adults you are, and that I know you to be. You'll still be expected to abide by the rules at Hogwarts, of course, but you five will be living in special dormitories I have arranged in Hogsmeade. Madame Rosmerta has graciously allowed me the use of two suites she normally reserves for customers: one to be shared by Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy, and the other to be shared by Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood." She paused a moment, giving Luna a meaningful look. "Of course, that choice is entirely yours, Miss Lovegood. I simply thought that, with the…events you experienced last year, you'd be more comfortable amongst friends, even if they are a year ahead of you."

Luna nodded dreamily. "Last year wasn't so bad, Professor McGonagall. But it will be nice to have friends again." She twirled a lock of hair, smiling at nothing.

"Very well, then," McGonagall said briskly, her face twitching slightly. "You'll each be assigned a Portkey that will enable your quick access to Hogwarts, meaning I will not tolerate tardiness of any kind." She stared at them pointedly from over her spectacles for a moment, as if letting the news sink in.

"Wait a minute," Weasley piped in. "You're saying Harry and I have to share a room with _Malfoy _of all people? Why can't me, Harry, and Hermione just share a room? I mean, it's not like we didn't do it all last year. Luna doesn't have a problem with Malfoy, so they could share."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Mr. Weasley," she said dryly. "Though I may be allowing you more freedom than usual, this is still a school, and a certain level of propriety must be maintained."

"But it's rooming with Malfoy that's the real impropriety, Professor."

"Fuck off, Weasel," Draco snapped, unable to help himself. "You think I want to wake up to your hideous, freckled mug every day?"

McGonagall coughed. "Language, Mr. Malfoy. And ten points off both of your Houses. As I said before, I expect you to behave like adults. All of you. And furthermore, there's no need to share bedrooms, merely common living quarters."

"Thank Merlin," Weasley muttered.

"Roomies!" Luna squealed excitedly, clutching Granger's arm. "This will be such fun, don't you think? I just hope there aren't any Wrackspurts…they make it so hard to study."

*

As there had apparently been some confusion with the Ministry delivering their Portkeys until the next morning, they had little choice except to walk to Hogsmeade. Draco hung back from the group, staring glumly at the ground. He would rather have been at the Manor, pouting and mulling as he had done most of the summer. At least he would have been left to lick his wounds in private, where such behavior was warranted. And he'd be there for his mother, who had taken his father's second imprisonment quite horribly…

"Malfoy," said a quiet voice, suddenly beside him.

It was Potter. Draco swallowed nervously, his heart racing, but managed a curt nod in Potter's direction.

"Potter."

"How've you been?"

Draco looked at Potter in surprise, taking a moment to study him. There were dark circles under his slightly bloodshot eyes, but otherwise he looked much the same. Same old Potter.

"Oh. I've been fine. Thanks for asking. How about you?" Draco's throat was gravelly, and he swallowed dryly. Why, oh, why, was he speaking civilly to Potter, of all people?

"You know. I get by." Then Potter gave him a lopsided grin, and Draco felt as though his heart would literally burst through his chest.

"How is your mother? I sent her an owl, once, and she wrote me back, but…I don't know. If there's anything I can do for her, please let me know."

Draco blinked. "Why would you care? I mean-"

"You mean, she didn't tell you? Your mother saved my life, she lied to Voldemort for me. Well, for you, really. But in the end it amounted to the same thing." He shrugged, staring up at the glittering stars. "Just let me know, okay?"

"Okay," Draco answered quietly, his mind racing along with his heartbeat. He and Potter fell quickly into uncomfortable silence. Up ahead, he could hear Granger and Weasley bickering quietly amongst themselves, Luna close behind them.

"So, er," Potter said after a moment, scratching his nose. "Umm, do you know what classes you're taking? Hermione's talked me into continuing Potions…I don't know why I listened to her, but it should be an interesting year."

Draco stared at him incredulously for a moment. "Potter, why…" he shook his head. "I'm not your friend, Potter." No matter how much he'd wanted to be, once. "We may be rooming together, but it doesn't mean we have to talk, or acknowledge each other in any way, really. In fact, I'd prefer we didn't." Draco's mouth was dry and his fingers were trembling when he shoved them in the folds of his robes, but it had needed to be said. This…Potter-being-nice-to-him thing was simply unnerving, and Draco's nerves were shot as it was.

Potter blinked from behind his glasses. Then, he shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because I hate you, you speccy, scar-headed, Gryffindor prat," Draco said, once again sounding more petulant than he'd intended. He kicked a stray pebble to prove his point.

Potter stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed, sounding almost maniacal, pausing to place his hands on his knees and duck his head, chortling.

Draco stopped in his tracks, turning around to shoot Potter what he hoped was a look of disgust. "Fuck you, Potter. I wasn't being funny."

Potter straightened up, tears of mirth in his eyes. "Oh, Malfoy. Would it be weird to say that I've missed you?"

"Yes," Draco snapped, scowling. He didn't like being laughed at, he never had.

Potter just grinned, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "I mean, it's refreshing, that's all." He resumed walking, still grinning at Draco.

"What, refreshing that you're such a big-shot war hero these days, whereas I'm just an ex-Death Eater fuck up…so far beneath you that you don't even hate me anymore, you just find me amusing?" Draco kicked another pebble, watched it bounce away into darkness. "How the mighty have fallen, and all that…am I right, Potter?"

Draco's breathing hitched slightly, and he quickly averted his face from Potter. Why had he said it? So what if Potter laughed at him - a lot of people did, these days. Already he'd heard mocking renditions of his "don't kill me" pleas from when he'd been wandless and helpless, and still reeling from Crabbe's death. Weasley's doing, undoubtedly, as he'd apparently heard the entire thing. And somehow it barely bothered him, because what the fuck did he care what a bunch of sheltered children thought of him? They hadn't been there, hadn't stood in front of _him_, so terrified he'd nearly wet himself, once, much to his shame. They hadn't writhed under _his _wand, not wanting to die but not wanting to live, not if living meant enduring another second.

It all came down to Potter, really. It always had. And if Potter thought he was a ridiculous laughingstock, well, there it was.

Potter shook his head, looking confused. "That's not what I meant at all! Jesus Christ, Malfoy." Potter bit his lip. "All I meant was-"

"We're here!" Luna called back joyously. She held her hands over her head, twirling around happily.

Luna and Granger soon parted ways with them, and Draco quietly followed behind Potter and Weasley. The rooms which had been set aside for them were apparently annexed on either side of the Three Broomsticks, far enough away from the pub itself to be respectable to McGonagall, he supposed. He remained tense until the door to their room was open and they were standing inside, wondering what Madame Rosmerta would do to him if she discovered that _Draco _was a recipient of her generosity.

"This is great," Potter said happily upon stepping inside, and he and Weasley proceeded to stomp about their tiny sitting area, the kitchen, the bathroom they all were expected to share, apparently. Draco sneered, shuddering at the thought of sharing with Weasley.

"Well, Malfoy," Weasley said, plopping down on the couch. "Does it fit your refined tastes? Not that you can afford to be refined anymore, from what I hear the Ministry-"

Draco snorted, picking up his trunk from the corner of the room, where it sat with two more trunks - Potter's and Weasley's. "Weasley, before you even finish that sentence, need I remind you of your own woeful financial status. At least _my _mother could afford to buy me new robes for the term…who gave you those knock-offs? Hagrid?" He shuddered, hoisting his trunk and carrying it to the nearest bedroom. He hardly cared which.

"Malfoy!" It was Potter, and Draco tensed instinctively. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Potter could hex him, could do whatever he wanted to Draco and the Ministry would turn a blind eye.

"What, Potter."

"Umm, is that the room you want? You didn't even look at the other two."

Draco shrugged, throwing open the door and laying his trunk on the floor. The room was sparsely furnished - it had a bed, a desk and chairs, and a small closet, but it would do.

"I don't really care," Draco replied simply. He closed the door, and on second thought, locked it.

*

Draco woke later that night, choking and gasping as he did most nights. His heart thudding, he pushed his blankets back and sat on the side of his bed. He placed his face in his hands, disgusted to find that his cheeks were damp. His chest tight, he concentrated on steadying his breathing, on slowing his heart.

It took him a moment to remember where he was, and he nearly groaned out loud. If he was home, back at the Manor, he could call for a house-elf to bring him tea, could pad around listlessly in the gardens until the night faded and the sky was painted morning red. Occasionally his mother would join him, would sit outside in her bathrobe and bare feet, holding his hand. Neither said anything, neither had to.

He wondered if his father ever woke up gasping, alone in his cold cell in Azkaban, ever felt weighed down by insurmountable regret as he watched his fellow prisoners pick the fleas out of their hair like animals might. The Dementors were gone, no longer hovering over their North Sea haven, that smorgasbord of horrible memories to spare. But had they ever been necessary, really? What possession is left to a prisoner, after all, but their regrets and remembered failings?

Draco laid back, supine on his bed. He placed his hand over his chest, feeling his heart still fluttering like a frightened bird. It was comforting, somehow. He took several deep breaths - inhaling, exhaling, and began counting backwards.

It was no good. Screams filled his ears - the screams of the people _Draco _had tortured, just to save his own skin. And _his _face, the inhuman red eyes, the perpetual smirk he seemed to wear around Draco, his cold laughs as he watched Draco collapse to his knees, rocking back and forth and becoming sick over and over again.

Draco sat up shakily, fumbling for his wand. His mother's wand, he corrected himself dully.

"_Lumos_," he whispered. The wand sputtered slightly in his hand and the light wasn't nearly as bright as he would have liked, but it would have to do. He supposed he was lucky he even had a wand, as the Ministry had nearly taken it from him. But for Potter's intervention they would have.

_Dear Mother_, Draco's letter began after he had rummaged through his trunk for quills and parchment and sat at his desk.

_I hope you're well. I am decidedly not, and as usual, it's all Potter's fault. His, and McGonagall's. Apparently the old cat still has it out for me, so she's making me room with Potter and Weasley. I repeat: Potter and Weasley. Is it true, Mother, that the Weasleys allow their animals to sleep in their beds with them? Although I've heard they all share one bed - in either case, I shudder to think of the manner of pests he'll be carrying, particularly since I doubt he bathes. _

_But as foul as Weasley may be, he's a minor nuisance compared to Potter. It's disgusting the way everyone is fawning over him, Mother. And now that the entire world is bending over and lifting up his robes, he has absolutely no restraint in how utterly condescending he behaves towards me. I hate him. But not to worry, I will do nothing unseemly or unbefitting of a Malfoy. I will simply grin and bear it, while secretly loathing Potter and his prattish ways. _

_I do hope you're well. If you need me to come home I will be there in an instant. _

_Love,_

_Draco_

Draco signed his name with flourish, sighing as he remembered his lack of an owl. He sank back against his chair, feeling considerably more at ease and clear-headed than just a few minutes ago. Almost as though the last two years had never happened.

Draco pushed out of his chair, carefully pushing open his bedroom door and tiptoeing to the kitchen. Perhaps a house-elf had stocked it with tea, or even just pumpkin juice…

Potter was in the kitchen. Draco drew in his breath, halting in his tracks and hoping he hadn't been noticed.

Potter didn't look up, he just continued to sit at their small table with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped almost dejectedly. After a moment he did look up, but not at Draco. Instead, he appeared to be gazing out the window, a pensive, slightly pained expression on his face. It was a little bit like seeing him naked.

Draco looked away sharply, his heart pounding as he backed away as quietly as possible. Reaching his room, he closed the door softly and shuffled back to his bed.

Draco didn't care about Potter, he didn't, but somehow he couldn't erase the image of Potter, looking lonely and sad, sitting by himself in the middle of the night. It was another thought to occupy his mind with, he supposed, and far more agreeable than imagined red eyes. And if for some reason he felt the urge to go talk to Potter, ask him what was wrong, well, that was simply his tired brain trying to distract him from his problems. And he couldn't help but appreciate that.

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I'm so, so sorry that it's taken me such a long time to update. There really is no excuse…but I have been very busy! Anyway, here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Chapter Two**

It was sheer luck that Draco managed to wake up on time, as his wand inexplicably failed to wake him. All he knew was that one moment he had been laying about and mulling, much like any night, and the next moment he was blinking against slit rays of sunshine. He closed his eyes, allowing the unexpected heat to warm his face. Then…

"Fuck!" Draco sat up with a start, pushing his blankets away. This was all he needed, to be late on his first day back at Hogwarts. As if his mother hadn't fought tooth and nail with the Ministry to simply allow him to attend, as if he had chosen to spend the summer attending trials and disciplinary hearings rather than the summer N.E.W.T.S. courses that others in his year had opted to do.

Draco relaxed slightly upon checking the time - he wasn't late, and if he played his cards right, he wouldn't be. Pushing himself upright and walking towards the door, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a mirror he had failed to notice the previous night.

He paused, peering into the glass. Dull eyes peered back at him, while a pale halo of hair surrounded a face much too sharp and pointy to ever be considered attractive. Not that that had mattered, once, back when he'd been so sure of himself and the world he belonged to. When life had seemed vast and exciting, each day brimming with possibility, with admiration and respect from his peers, if only because he was Lucius Malfoy's son. He'd been _someone _then, someone who could have been important, powerful even, given the time.

"Fuck," Draco said, scowling. Mirror-Draco scowled back, causing Draco to scowl harder. He'd never realized before how much like a spoiled child he could look. It was no wonder that Potter had laughed at him.

Draco sighed, finally averting his gaze from the mirror. He eyed the door, wondering if Potter and Weasley had already left. He hoped so.

Swinging the door open, he wasted no time in dashing to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Several minutes later - showered, shaved, and slightly more optimistic about the day, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to his bedroom.

"Malfoy!"

Draco froze, not bothering to turn around. Not wanting to turn around. "What do you want, Potter?"

"I just wanted to let you know that the Portkeys are here…er, on the table, that is." Potter's voice had a slightly hoarse undertone, as though he'd spent the entire night awake. And if the previous night had been any indication, he probably had.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, refusing to continue in that line of thinking. He did _not_ care about Potter. At all.

"Great." He resumed walking, disconcertingly aware of Potter's eyes on his back, watching his retreat. The same eyes that had watched him across the room at his trial, burning with intensity and apprehension. So it was Potter's fault, as were most things, that he was a shaking mess of nerves by the time he had finished dressing, that his hands shook so badly he could hardly manage to knot his own tie.

But he did manage, somehow, even managed to grasp his Portkey (which creatively enough, _was _a key), and found himself lurched forward, whether he was ready or not.

*

"You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" The girl sitting across from him at the Slytherin table was even more nervous than Draco, twitching almost spastically while wriggling about like a hyperactive Crup puppy.

"Maybe," Draco answered.

The girl grinned. She couldn't have been older than a first year, which would explain why she was talking to Draco.

"I knew you were. Are, I mean. Is it true you have the Dark Mark? And did Harry Potter really save your life? What was it like? I want to get his autograph - I brought my autograph book and everything."

Draco scowled, unable to help himself, his eyes straying on their own accord towards the Gryffindor table. Towards Potter. This morning he was sitting with the female Weasley, the same snotty, freckled bitch who had once hit Draco with a particularly potent Bat Bogey Hex. She sat ridiculously close to Potter, her bright hair brushing over his shoulder when she whispered something in his ear. Potter smiled, blushing slightly when she squeezed his hand.

Draco forced himself to look away, a strange gnawing sensation stirring his insides. He was obviously going mad, his brain addled from one too many _Crucio_s. Because other than madness, there was no other explanation possible for the sudden, troubling thought - that _he _wanted to be the one Potter smiled at, unabashedly and without reserve. It was enough to make him lose his appetite completely, and he pushed himself away from the table and onto his feet.

"Where are you going?" the girl - Potter's undying fan - asked innocently.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. The freckles amassing her nose and forehead reminded him of a Weasley.

"None of your business," he said sharply, ignoring the small stab of remorse that resulted upon seeing her face fall. But he was doing her a favor, really. Life was a bitch and she'd best get used to it. He left without a backward glance.

Draco had Potions class first thing, but leaving the Great Hall early left him with time to spare, and he proceeded to stroll around the castle for a good while, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells he'd grown accustomed to over the years; the portraits, the winding, drafty, ever-changing corridors. He'd loved it once, he really had - despite what Potter and his cronies had thought of him, he had had friends, good memories, fun times…

That was gone now. With every corner Draco turned, there was nothing remaining of those carefree, innocent days. Now he saw the spot where the Carrows had performed the Cruciatus curse on a Ravenclaw girl, once. Turn again, go up a few stairs, and there was the bathroom where Draco's sixth year confidante, Moaning Myrtle, resided. Then, many stairs and turns later, there was a blackened, scorched area of wall - behind it, presumably, was the Room of Hidden Things. Or rather, what remained of it.

Draco leaned against the wall, feeling the cool stone beneath his cheek. He traced a finger absently over the scorched portion. Crabbe's body had never been recovered - there'd been nothing left to recover, when it came down to it. Fiendfire destroys everything in its path…even remnants of the Dark Lord's soul, as rumor had it. Poor Crabbe hadn't stood a chance.

"Well, look who it is," a voice said from behind him. Draco whirled around, his body tensing immediately. Four sixth year Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw girl, all of whom Draco recognized, none of whom he could name, had gathered around him.

"What the hell do you want?" Draco sneered, drawing himself up, pushing away from the charred wall. He resisted the innate urge to reach for his wand - he would be expelled so quickly his head would spin.

The dark-haired boy who had spoken, however, held no such qualms. He held his wand steadily at Draco, although his hand shook slightly. Draco smirked. Some Gryffindor.

The boy saw, apparently, and he scowled, jabbing Draco in the chest. "You should be in Azkaban with your father, Malfoy. My mum - lots of the parents here - they're creating a petition to get you kicked out of Hogwarts."

"Lucky me," Draco muttered, squirming away from the sharp end of the wand.

"You're a danger to society," the Ravenclaw girl, whom Draco recalled as being Muggle-born, piped in, then bit her lip nervously. She looked down, then up again, her eyes swimming with tears. "My sister is dead because of you, your father…"

"My father's never killed anyone!" he snapped, pushing the wand away from his chest. "And neither have I. So kindly go fuck yourselves, and be happy there's one less Mudblood in the world…"

Draco cringed the second the words were out of his mouth - verbal negotiations had never been his strongpoint after all, followed closely by beating Potter at Quidditch and murdering Headmasters.

Several things happened at once; there were angry yells, curses, sobs emanating from the bereaved girl, and finally, somebody punched Draco in the nose, another in the stomach.

In all fairness, he supposed he'd deserved it.

Draco doubled over, his back scraping the wall, and though his head was ducked, crimson blood pouring over his cupped hands, he saw his attackers retreating hastily, looking quite frightened. He fought an insane urge to laugh.

*

Madame Pompfrey exclaimed loudly when he entered the Hospital Wing, ushering him immediately to an empty bed.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she scolded after quickly mending his nose. "I do hope you plan on reporting whoever did this! Not that I believe in snitching for every little thing, but an act of such violence…"

"I tripped," Draco said with a smirk, tipping his head back to swallow the proffered potion. He made a face, fighting the urge to retch, and wiped his mouth. "That was disgusting."

Madame Pompfrey snatched the empty bottle from him, shooting him a look of utter disapproval. And something else, something too akin to pity for comfort. Draco tore his gaze from her hastily.

"My robes are still covered with blood," he said flatly, staring at the floor.

Madame Pompfrey pursed her lips as if to say something, but instead muttered a quick cleaning spell, vanishing the blood on Draco's robes. She gave him a tight smile.

"Off you go, now. And if you happen to "trip" again, you're to come to me immediately. Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Draco said dully, glaring back at the floor. He looked up. "I'm late for Potions class."

"Oh!" She chuckled nervously, then pressed a note into his hand.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, rising to his feet and walking away, out of the Hospital Wing.

Professor Slughorn looked up in surprise when Draco entered the Potions classroom, as did the rest of the class. Without a word, Draco walked up to him, holding out the note.

"Oh, dear," Slughorn muttered with faux concern, his walrus-moustache quivering in his efforts. "Oh, goodness. Surely everything is all right, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Quite," Draco answered curtly, suddenly all too aware of the several pairs of eyes trained on him. "I have allergies this time of year, unfortunately." He gave a small cough for emphasis.

Slughorn gave him a droopy smile. "Well, the important thing is that you're all right. Now, if you'll take a seat - I thought I'd start with something fun today, something easy to start the term off right!"

Draco blinked bemusedly, shuffling as innocuously as possible to the nearest empty desk. He made a point of not looking around the room, though he caught a glimpse of Potter through his peripheral vision. Great.

He barely listened as Slughorn explained the potion they were to make - the Draught of Peace, which most of the class had already made, as it had been a required potion on the O.W.L.s. It was simply an excuse to fawn over Potter and his mysterious potion making skills, Draco was certain. He missed Snape, who would undoubtedly have set them to making the most difficult potion imaginable on the first day, and would have shown no mercy towards Potter's lackluster abilities.

Draco blinked, forcing himself to not think about Snape, who represented Draco's own failings on such a profound level. Moving as if on auto-pilot, he walked to the front of the room with the rest of the class and gathered his ingredients.

He returned to his desk, bristling with indignation when Potter parked himself, and his ingredients, at the adjoining desk.

Draco stared at him. "Potter, what the fuck are you doing?"

Potter shrugged, already at work chopping hellabore. And doing a sloppy job of it, Draco noted, his irritation increasing with every careless chop .

"Slughorn said you needed a partner."

Draco sneered, looking around the room and seeing that Granger had apparently paired with Weasley.

Draco leaned closer to Potter. "Your Mudblood's forsaken you, I take it?"

Potter hissed, nearly cutting his finger, then straightened and glared at Draco. Draco couldn't help but smile - finally.

"Do you want me to hate you or something, Malfoy?" Potter whispered sharply. "Because say that about Hermione again and I'll…"

"And here I was laboring under the impression that you already hated me, Potter. It's always good to know I have something to strive for."

Potter snorted. "You're a sick piece of work, Malfoy. I hope you know that." _Chop, chop. _"And here _I _was laboring under the impression that maybe…" Potter trailed off.

"Maybe what? That I've changed?" Now it was Draco's turn to snort. "Because I haven't, okay? Not a bit."

Potter sighed. "Whatever, Malfoy. Let's just work on our potion, then."

They worked in silence for several minutes, only breaking it occasionally to name off ingredients. Draco made sure that _he_, and not Potter, was the one to stir, so naturally their potion was quickly the desired lavender color and was bubbling perfectly.

Slughorn, making the rounds around the classroom, beamed when he stopped in front of their cauldron.

"Excellent work, Harry!" he said proudly, wiping the sweat off his shiny forehead. He gave Draco a conspiratorial wink. "I knew Harry could pass some of his knowledge on to you, Mr. Malfoy. He's a natural, just like his mother - ten points to Gryffindor!"

Draco blinked, clenching his fists angrily at his sides.

"Actually, Professor Slughorn, Malfoy did most of the work," Potter said loudly, his eyes flashing strangely. "I'm actually horrible at Potions - I only did well in sixth year because I had Professor Snape's old book."

Slughorn's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, then he gave a small chuckle. "You're too modest for your own good, Harry. But of course I was planning on awarding points to Slytherin as well - ten points for your efforts, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco had never wanted to disappear more than at that very moment, and he studiously avoided Potter's eyes as they finished up and packed their things.

"Malfoy." Potter grabbed his arm outside of class, nearly causing him to drop his books.

"Watch it, Potter!" he snapped, jerking out of Potter's grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Sorry!" Potter snapped back, glowering slightly. He took a deep breath. "Look, I thought Slughorn was way out of line…"

"Yeah, which would explain why you felt the need to draw everyone's attention to it?" He sneered triumphantly at Potter's rather aghast expression. "Always the fucking hero!"

"I wasn't - I just…"

"Oh, shut it, Potter." Draco turned and walked away, feeling simultaneously elated…and confused.

*

Percy Weasley looked as though he might faint, his face the brightest of Weasley-reds. However, he stood at the front of the classroom with his head held hide, feet planted resolutely in an utmost Gryffindor stature. And his robes were impeccable - impossibly well-tailored for a Weasley. Draco wasn't sure what to think.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, everybody. Some of you may remember me as Head Boy from a few years ago - I'm Percy Weasley. Or, um, Professor Weasley, you can call me.

"As I'm sure many of you know, there have been rumors for years about a curse on this position and, well, it's the truth." His gaze traveled meaningfully around the room before landing on his brother. Percy gave a curt nod, to which Ron Weasley grinned like the idiot he was.

"But," he continued, "that curse was dispelled when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort."

Claps, cheers, and catcalls emanated from every Gryffindor present in the room. Draco simply scowled, wishing for the day to be over. He didn't dare sneak a peak at Potter, seated directly behind Weasley and Granger.

Percy frowned slightly, holding up a hand to indicate silence. "Yes, yes. We're all very grateful to him, I'm sure. But anyway, as I was saying, the curse was broken, and hopefully with it, the unfortunate trend of incomplete, fragmented Defense instruction. Now, I'm just one person, and admittedly inexperienced as a teacher of any kind, and so I'd like to introduce you to my assistant. Harry, could you please come up here?"

_It fucking figures_, Draco thought angrily as he watched Potter take his place beside Percy. Gone was the usual awkward posture and self-conscious fidgeting - Potter was clearly in his element, and he knew it.

Potter smiled at the class. "Er, hi. I'm Harry Potter, but I guess all of you knew that. Um, I'll be assisting Professor Weasley's seventh year classes this term…so, please, if you have any questions or need help of any kind, feel free to ask me."

Immediately upon that proclamation, a dozen hands went up. Potter blinked, pushing up his glasses. "Um, yes?" he asked hesitantly, pointing towards a mousy-haired Ravenclaw girl.

"What was it like to face You-Know-Who?"

"Er…"

"Is it true you died?"

"Can you still speak to snakes?"

"Are you single?"

"Can we touch your scar?"

Draco felt the sudden urge to hex every single one of them for their stupid, inane questions. And once again, it had nothing to do with Potter. No, it had to do with the dismissive way they were using events - true events, which Draco would forever have nightmares over - as entertainment fodder.

Somewhere in the midst of Draco's rage, Percy had demanded the students' silence, and was continuing his speech.

"…not here to discuss Mr. Potter's personal life, or anything other than what he chooses to disclose. And honestly, you call yourselves seventh years?" He shook his head in apparent befuddlement. "Honestly. Now, as it's the first day, I did have a practical demonstration planned…that is, if you still want to do it, Harry."

Potter nodded, looking bemused. "Yeah, sure." He looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on Draco. Draco met his gaze unflinchingly, causing Potter to nod slightly.

Percy looked at Potter expectedly. "Have you picked a dueling partner, Harry? Unless you'd rather I do it…"

Potter bit his lip, his eyes glinting strangely. "Malfoy."

All heads craned in Draco's direction. Draco made sure to sneer at them, though his heart was currently pouring into his ears. His wand barely worked properly - Potter would undoubtedly humiliate him in front of many eager eyes - but Draco found he somehow didn't care.

Why, when it came to Potter, was Draco's behavior so utterly _Gryffindor, _the antithesis of any self-respecting Malfoy?

"I accept your challenge, _Potter,"_ he said, spitting the name. Potter grinned at him in return, bowing at Draco once he'd reached the dueling circle.

Draco bowed back. For some reason his blood seemed to be pumping more freely, his entire body thrumming with an energy he'd assumed had been lost. Even his magic felt more alive, poised expectantly at his fingertips waiting to be set free. _Potter _did this to him, and somehow, he didn't mind. He felt fucking alive.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Potter cried, predictably. Draco rolled his eyes, easily bouncing the spell back with _Protego. _It didn't have a chance to hit Potter, as he quickly erected a charm around his body which caused the spell to dissipate. Draco couldn't help but be impressed.

"Been doing your homework, Potter?" Draco asked casually, sidestepping cautiously around Potter.

Potter shrugged. "Why, scared you'll lose?"

Draco responded by sending a quick, aggressive slew of Stinging Hexes at Potter. Potter blocked them easily, casting a Jelly-Legs Jinx in retaliation. It caught Draco before he had a chance to react, and he nearly stumbled to his knees before ending it. And Potter, stupid, chivalrous Potter, was apparently planning on waiting for Draco to recover…

"_Tarantallegra_!" Draco yelled, smirking when Potter danced a brief jig. Potter ended the spell quickly, before Draco could even blurt out another, and immediately sent out a long string of non-verbal spells which Draco barely had time to block.

This went on for several minutes, the both of them sending out spells at a lightning pace, alternating between blocking and ducking and rolling.

As if on silent agreement, they both paused, each breathing heavily. Never taking his eyes off Potter, Draco used his free hand to push the hair away from his sweaty forehead. Potter mirrored the action, his eyes locked onto Draco.

"Not bad, Malfoy," Potter managed to gasp, after a moment. He grinned once again. "Should we call it a draw, then?"

Draco blinked. "I think not. _Serpensortia_!" he cried, not missing the way Potter's eyes widened as a black snake erupted from Draco's wand, landing in the middle of the dueling circle and immediately slithering towards Potter.

Several people gasped. Draco wondered if his use of such a spell would warrant detention, but hardly cared at the moment. In his peripheral vision Draco could see Percy making his way towards the circle, and wondered if Potter felt insulted that he had single-handedly destroyed the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, but couldn't be trusted to rid them of a little snake.

And then he heard it - a soft, almost melodic hissing. Draco shivered, watching through narrowed eyes as Potter crouched in front of the snake and hissed emphatically at it.

Draco had heard Voldemort use Parseltongue on several occasions, and each time he had found it harsh sounding, even obscene. But when Potter did it…

Almost against his will, Draco walked forward, towards Potter.

"What is it saying?" Draco asked quietly, falling to his knees beside Potter. Potter looked at him briefly in slight surprise, but hissed an apparently lengthy Parseltongue phrase before straightening.

"She's confused as to how she got here, and she doesn't understand when I tell her a spell created her. She's afraid - that's why she wanted to bite somebody." Potter bit his lip, then looked in Percy's direction.

"I'm taking her to the Forbidden Forest," Potter said in a tone which suggested no negotiation. And without even waiting for an answer, Potter allowed the snake to crawl up his arm and left the classroom.

"Well, that answers _that _question," Draco said, to no one in particular.

*

_Draco, _

_I know it's a difficult time for you, but do try to control yourself. It actually sounds quite exciting to be living away from the rest of the students and out of the dorms - a little like being grown up, isn't it? _

_I know you're not a big fan of Potter, but given our situation it's best to not remind him of that fact. His word carries a lot of weight right now, Draco, so would it hurt you to perhaps _pretend_ like you don't hate him? _

_I am doing fine, and of course I don't want you to come home. I want you to remain at school, where you belong. I'll see you during the holidays, as always, and I look forward to it very much. _

_One last thing. Would it hurt for you to write to your father, just once? He'll never say it, but I know he misses you and it hurts him terribly that you never write. Azkaban is such a horrible place - could you give him one thing to look forward to? For me, if nothing else. _

_Your Mother_

_*_

_Mother,_

_I will try, for you, to conceal my utter disdain for Potter. _

_I have no idea what I'd say to Father. _

_Draco_


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews!**

**Just to tell everybody, I'm going on vacation for about a month, so there won't be any updates for awhile. But I posted this one as quickly as possible to make up for that…so, enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

Draco supposed, on further consideration, that returning to Hogwarts hadn't been such a terrible idea. He had always been a good student, at least prior to sixth year, and genuinely enjoyed the accumulation of new knowledge. And without the threat of Voldemort and impending death hanging over his head, he was free to immerse himself fully into his studies once again. He had forgotten how _good_ being a normal student felt.

The only downside, of course, was that Draco felt quite alone this time around. His friends were gone - no one but Loony really talked to him, with the exception of Potter's painfully polite inquiries. Every House but Slytherin regarded him with open hostility, and even they treated him with cool indifference. Draco didn't want to admit it, but he was quite lonely, and growing increasingly disconsolate. One day he caught himself snatching at Luna's tidbits of companionship the way a beggar might grab at falling bread crumbs, and felt honest disgust with himself. How the mighty had fallen, indeed.

But it could certainly be worse.

Draco sighed in exasperation as he read the same passage in his Ancient Runes textbook for the third time. Every Friday night since school had begun, Weasley had insisted on inviting over his hordes of obnoxious Gryffindors - Longbottom, Thomas, Finnagin, the surviving Weasley twin, and others whose names he didn't know and didn't care to find out - and proceeded to drink excessive amounts of Firewhisky and generally make their presence known. Draco supposed he could have cast a Silencing Charm around his room, but his wand - _his mother's wand _- had mysteriously reverted back to its previous ways. He did, however, _always_ lock his door.

Draco had no clue where Potter went during the Weasel's little soirees, and in spite of not caring, wanted to know. Did Potter think himself above such goings-on? Draco snorted; it would have been just like him.

Most likely, of course, he was with the Weasley bitch. Draco scowled fully, barely resisting the urge to throw his textbook against the opposite wall.

Draco was confused by Potter, and of his place in Potter's new world. Gone were their days of open, often childish, hostility - the taunts and hexes of yesteryear. Potter clearly thought they'd moved past that, though Draco couldn't pinpoint when, or why. And Potter was polite to him, disgustingly so, and worked with him in Potions class as though they were old acquaintances, rather than former enemies. That spark of electricity that had always existed between them, that Draco had clearly felt throughout their duel, Potter seemed willing to ignore.

The front door slammed, and Draco sat up straight, listening intently. Ah, yes. There was no mistaking the distinct timbre of Potter's voice, and Draco crept quietly to his door, pressing his ear against it.

"…want to see you, sometimes, Harry." Another voice - Longbottom's, if the slightly cringing tone was any indication.

"I know," Potter said. "I've just been busy, Neville. I'm sorry."

"Harry, you agreed with me when I suggested having these parties!" Weasley, a whine creeping into his voice. "This summer you were so busy with everything - and I understand that, I really do - but you never saw anyone, even Ginny! And my mum…she just wanted to know you were alright…"

"It really wasn't her business," Potter replied coldly. A pause. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that, Ron…I know you mean well, you all mean well. But your family lost somebody - it wasn't my place to be in the middle of that."

"Wasn't your place?" Weasley said incredulously. He was met by silence.

It was only when Potter's footsteps indicated he'd retired to his room that Draco let out the breath he'd been holding.

So Potter didn't confide in the Weasel any longer…now that was certainly interesting. And he could still talk to snakes. And he frequently snuck out by himself in the middle of the night - Draco wasn't sure he ever slept.

There was more to Potter than met the eye, apparently. And as always, Draco longed to know what it was. Somehow, he felt entitled to it.

That night, rather than waking up gasping from visions of red eyes, he slept easily, dreaming instead of green eyes flashing angrily.

*

Draco stared hard at Potter the next morning in the Great Hall, willing him to turn around and glare in return. He didn't, of course - he kept his back to Draco, whispering quietly with his friends. Granger and Weasley seemed completely absorbed in each other, however revolting Draco found the thought, sitting so close that their elbows brushed.

At that, Draco finally made himself look away. Potter was one thing, but how pathetic must he be to suddenly give any thought to the romantic dalliances of Weasleys? He suddenly missed Pansy, in all her bitchy glory, more than ever. She would have had the most utterly brilliant things to say about a Granger/Weasley romance, and likely would have mocked them to their faces.

Oh, Pansy. Now there was a depressing thought. He had tried to approach her after the Battle of Hogwarts, but she had immediately been ushered away by her parents. He hadn't seen her since, and all of his letters had been returned. Draco understood, he supposed - his was not a politically advantageous family to associate with, at the moment, and he certainly understood the sacrifices one must make for their family (did he _ever_). But…it still hurt.

"Hi, Draco." Draco's attention was snapped back to the present by Luna, who had parked herself down beside him. He had learned to not be surprised on the days she sat at the Slytherin table, and the other Slytherins ignored her completely, much as they did Draco.

"Luna," he said, acknowledging her with a nod. "Seen any Wrackspurts lately? Or perhaps a Crumple Horned Snorkack?" He fought to suppress his laughter as Luna seriously seemed to consider the question.

"Not lately," she answered calmly, her protuberant eyes fixed on him intently. "But there is a corner of the library infested by Wrackspurts, so it's rather funny you asked. How are you, Draco?"

He shrugged. "Lovely. Brilliant. Peachy keen and a bag of jelly beans. Why are you laughing?"

Luna had let out a startling burst of laughter, causing the other inhabitants of the table to look up in surprise. Draco couldn't help but grin.

"A bag of jelly beans!" she repeated, still chuckling. "You are so funny, Draco."

Draco blinked, still smiling in spite of himself. "So I've been told. My wit is legendary. Deadly, even."

And for some reason, he wasn't sure why, he looked over at Potter again, to find Potter staring straight at him. He was looking at Draco in something akin to awe, his lips quirked in an almost-smile. Draco looked away quickly, feeling a blush creeping up his neck and a strange feeling in his stomach.

"You and Harry do love to stare at each other," said Luna offhandedly. "Shall I ask him to sit with us?"

"No!" Draco all but yelped, causing several Slytherins to eye him curiously. "No," he repeated, unsurprised to find his hands shaking. He quickly placed them on his lap. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Luna asked curiously. "You don't like Harry?"

Draco snorted, staring at her incredulously. "Luna…have the last seven years just been a blur to you? Because, really, I'm trying to understand how the fact that Potter and I hate each other could have escaped your notice."

Luna shrugged. "Harry doesn't hate you. I asked him myself. And Draco, don't you think I've had better things to pay attention to all this time than you and Harry?" She smiled serenely, taking a bite of sausage.

*

"So, you're friends with Luna, then?" Potter asked curiously, later that day in Potions.

Draco shrugged, carefully grinding powdered unicorn horn with a pestle. "What's it to you?"

"I was just asking," Potter said indignantly. "Trying to make conversation…you know about that, right?"

Draco _tsked_. "No need to get testy, now, Potter. I just thought I'd clarify the question…you know about that, right?"

Potter snorted. "Forget about it, then. I just won't talk to you."

"Suits me."

Draco worked in silence for a moment, until the need to speak became too much for him. "Okay…we're friends. I guess."

"What?"

"Luna. And me. Friends. You know, those people you spend time with, who enjoy your company as much as you enjoy theirs…friends."

"Yes, I'm quite aware what friends are," Potter snapped, frowning down into their cauldron. "I'm just trying to understand why the two of you are friends, that's all."

"Oh, 'that's all', he says. Hmm, I don't quite understand why it's any of your business, Potter. Particularly as it doesn't involve you…oh, wait. I suppose since you've made a habit of talking about me with Luna, it _does_ involve you. Silly me."

It may have been a trick of the light, but Draco could have sworn he saw Potter blush slightly.

"Luna asked about you," Potter mumbled.

"And?"

Potter shrugged. "She asked how you were doing. For some reason she thought I would know…I told her you're still a horrible git, and that's all I know." Potter scowled slightly. "Now, tell me what I'm supposed to do next, before I bullocks up this entire potion."

Draco stared closely at Potter, taking note of his increasingly pronounced under-eye circles. There was also something about the way Potter held himself now which spoke of intense exhaustion…despite himself, Draco felt a small stab of pity, or perhaps just empathy.

He sighed. "You're doing fine, Potter. Really, just take your time and relax…and read carefully! You'll be fine."

Potter nodded, looking thoroughly taken aback. "Okay. So, it says to add the powdered moonstone and stir counterclockwise three times before adding the unicorn horn…am I getting this right?"

Potter looked so uncertain, it was nearly endearing. It was also a little unsettling - all these years Draco had believed Potter to be so arrogant…could those beliefs have been completely unfounded? Draco blinked, pausing in his crushing.

"Well, yeah. Just follow the instructions, Potter. You'll be fine." And then, just because he _had_ to make some disparaging remark, he added, "honestly, Potter. You won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen…this should be nothing."

Except maybe he'd miscalculated. Because far from seeming annoyed by the comment, Potter was smiling slightly. Draco's knees nearly buckled. Potter had never smiled at _him _before. "It's funny you'd bring that up. Remember the badges you made?"

Draco cringed inwardly. Though hilarious at the time, in retrospect those badges had been unbelievably lame. Not that he'd ever admit that to Potter, of all people.

"Yes, well, they were quite brilliant, weren't they? I would certainly come up with a better slogan if I made them now. Like, 'Potter is a speccy wanker" or 'Potter is a git' or, for old time's sake, 'Potty Potter' or 'Scarhead'".

Potter chuckled. "You think those are better? That's pathetic."

"For a moment's notice, I thought they were pretty good," Draco sniffed indignantly. "As if you could do any better."

Potter shrugged, grinning. "Probably not. Hey," he said after a moment, biting his lip nervously. "Er, how are you, really, Malfoy?"

And there was absolutely no reason why a simple question should cause Draco's heart to simultaneously stop _and _beat faster, yet Draco felt it like a punch in the chest.

"Fine," he managed. He paused briefly in his ministrations to the unicorn horn, using the back of his hand to wipe the hair out of his eyes. Slughorn was making his way slowly around the classroom, assessing the progress of the students.

And then, simply because it was polite, and expected, Draco asked, "and you, Potter?"

Potter shrugged, looking somewhat surprised. "The same. I mean, things could always be better, but that's just life, isn't it?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Although, I think of it more along the lines of things could always be worse."

Potter cleared his throat. "Umm, I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. The flat…I mean, it's your place, too. You don't have to hole yourself up in your room all the time, and when Ron throws his parties you don't have to…you know, disappear. You could even invite your friends, if you'd like."

"And just what friends would I invite, Potter?" Draco asked quietly, bristling slightly. Here they had been having a shockingly civil conversation, no hexes in sight, and then Potter had to bring up this kind of shit.

Potter's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…oh, just forget it," Potter said, scowling. "Let's just finish and get the hell out of here."

So Draco forgot it, or tried to, as there was a potion to complete, and Slughorn to contend with. But try as he might, he couldn't forget the way Potter had smiled at him, or the way that, for just a little while, it had felt like talking to a friend.

*

A week later, Draco didn't even bother to suppress a smirk when he arrived back at the flat to the wondrous sight of Ginny Weasley shouting and sobbing outside of Potter's bedroom door. Potter stood in the doorway, a blank expression on his face. It wasn't altogether surprising - for the past several days the two of them had taken to fighting in the Great Hall, in the library, and, occasionally, at the flat. Well, Ginny fought, anyway. Potter tended to just listen to her railings, looking almost entirely apathetic to the situation.

Ginny stomped her foot. Her back was to Draco, so she didn't see him as he eased himself onto the couch, eager to watch the show.

"You are a complete bastard, Harry Potter! I hope you know that! Who do you think you are, expecting me to wait for you -"

"I never asked you to wait for me, Ginny," Potter replied quietly. If he'd seen Draco, he gave no indication. "I didn't want you to, remember? I wanted to-"

"Protect me, yeah, I know," Ginny snapped bitterly. "Never mind how completely backward and misogynistic that sounds -"

"I take it you've been talking to Hermione."

Ginny made a sound of incoherent rage, stomping her foot again. "Yes, because I obviously don't have an intelligent thought in my head, right, Harry? Is that why you liked me? You thought I'd be an easy lay or something, and then when you were done I'd just skip away -"

Potter's eyes flashed. "That's not what I meant, and you _know _it, Ginny. And we never even - you _know _I don't think like that."

"Oh, yeah?" Ginny shot back, her tone considerably lower. "Not for lack of trying, though, right, Harry? As I recall-"

Draco chortled out loud; he simply couldn't help it. This was just _too_ good, too fucking good to go to waste.

Ginny spun around, murder in her eyes. Her very red, puffy eyes, he noted gleefully. Potter scowled, but said nothing.

Draco smiled. "So Potter here couldn't get it up for you, Weasley, am I right?" He sighed, stretching languorously out on the couch and crossing one ankle over the other. "Ah, well, I guess freckles and firecrotch are more an acquired taste." He wrinkled his nose. "I don't see how, if you ask me."

Ginny stomped toward him, her face mottled with tears and rage. "Shut the fuck up, Malfoy. I'll hex you, I swear I will."

Draco _tsked_. "Always ready to resort to violence. How plebian of you - although, considering the source, I can't say I'm surprised." He leered, leaning forward. "Not to worry, Weasley. I'm sure your brothers will take you back, you need only ask -"

Draco shrieked at the sudden sensation of bat wings flapping out of his nose, then shrieked again as they began attacking his face with their claws. However, he quickly came to his senses and upon ending the spell, laughed openly at Ginny's hostile expression.

It had so been worth it.

"Goodbye, Harry," Ginny sniffed, stomping her way to the front door. "I'll leave you here with Malfoy - you two deserve each other, really."

The door slammed behind her. Draco stared at it triumphantly for a moment, then turned his attention back to Potter. He hadn't moved from his position in the doorway, and was staring at the door with a perplexed expression. Finally, as if sensing Draco's appraisal, he met his gaze, his expression darkening. And something - something akin to a look of betrayal, flashed briefly across his face. But of course, that was ridiculous.

"That was none of your business, Malfoy. You had no fucking right to say _anything_."

Draco sneered. "That's never stopped me before, has it, Potter? And guess what? I happen to live here. And since you decided to have your little chat out here, for everyone to hear, I felt no qualms in having my say. Just because the great Harry Potter didn't give me his express permission to speak -"

"Shut _up_!" Potter spat angrily. "Just shut up!"

Draco sniffed haughtily. "Why don't you come over here and make me, Potter?" he said in a low voice, nearly shivering with glee at the thought. "It's been awhile since we've really had it out, so come here."

Potter just stared at him. "Grow the fuck up, Malfoy," he said coldly.

He slammed the door. _Hard. _

Draco flinched, staring dumbly at Potter's door for several minutes. A miniscule tendril of regret, or something like it, had begun to wind its way around his chest. He'd wanted Potter to pay attention to him, that was the truth, and one he'd acknowledged for years. But why?

Draco wracked his brain, quickly breezing through the various interactions he'd had with Potter throughout the years. In every case, Potter had reacted with equal vehemence to Draco's every taunt, hex, or insult. It had been so easy, and so much _fun_ to rile him up. That's all it had been, really. Fun.

Until his father had gone to prison. Until Draco had been forced to kill or be killed. Draco gulped slightly. Yes, their interactions had certainly taken a darker turn around that time. And more desperate. Draco had often wondered if he really could have cast the Cruciatus on Potter and meant it, as Aunt Bella had always told him was crucial. When Potter had responded by nearly slicing Draco in half, his first coherent thought after the fact had been, _really? _

Did Potter feel regret, ever, for that window of blind panic and excruciating pain he'd caused? Or did he believe that that was what Draco had deserved - to die terrified and bleeding on a bathroom floor?

Was he glad he'd pulled Draco out of the Fiendfire?

Did he think about Draco at all?

That was the most troubling part of all of it - Draco had no idea where he and Potter stood these days. Enemies? Tentative allies? Indifferent acquaintances? From the moment he'd seen Potter again, Draco had wanted things to be like before. He'd wanted the excitement, the titillation, the _constancy _that Potter brought to his life. He'd needed Potter, and it had hurt more than anything to not be needed back.

But, maybe…

Potter had talked to _Draco_, and Draco only, the night they'd first walked into Hogsmeade. Potter had sought him out in Potions, even though Weasel and the Mudblood were there as well. Potter had chosen to duel with _him_, despite a classroom full of people. And of course, Potter had _smiled _at him. Was it possible that Potter needed him as well - maybe not as before, but differently? Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe Potter was every bit as fucked up as he was.

Before he could think better of it, Draco rose to his feet and knocked on Potter's door. There was no answer. He knocked again, using his fists to pound against the wood. Still no answer.

"It's unlocked!" He finally heard Potter yell crossly, and Draco wrenched the door open.

It was Draco's first time ever in Potter's room, and he glanced surreptitiously around for a moment. It was as sparsely decorated as Draco's room, the only difference being a Gryffindor banner hung garishly across a wall, and three pictures - one of a dark-haired man, who looked very much like Potter, with his arm around a red-haired witch, who, at first glance Draco thought to be Ginny Weasley. Then it dawned on him that these were Potter's _parents_, the infant cradled between them, tiny fists waving in the air, tantamount to that fact.

Next, there was a picture of Potter with Granger and the Weasel, which Draco didn't ponder over for too long before turning his attention to the next picture. Draco frowned. Why on earth did Potter have a picture of a baby?

Potter, sprawled across his bed, his hands clasped corpse-like over his chest, glared at him, then sat up.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Green eyes behind glasses were fixed at him accusingly, yet curious at the same time. Draco stared back, nearly forgetting himself.

"How dare you tell me to grow up, Potter?" Draco finally spat out. "You have no clue, no _fucking _clue what I've been through." Draco could feel his heart battering against his chest and resounding in his ears. But it had needed to be said, just as Draco needed to know what he and Potter were to each other.

Then Potter, amazingly, began to laugh. Draco stared at him incredulously.

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco said softly, his voice dangerous.

Potter just looked at him disdainfully for a moment, his smile dying. "No, fuck you. You're as self-centered and selfish as ever, Malfoy. You think the world revolves around you, as always. I've tried being nice to you. I felt _sorry _for you, believe it or not."

That was the worst thing Potter could have said. Feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach, Draco whispered, "what?"

"You heard me." Potter's eyes met his, gaze for gaze.

Draco was sure that _this_, being an object of pity, was far worse than the perception of being ignored. All his plans flown out the window, Draco stared at Potter in disbelief for a long moment, swallowing a massive lump in his throat. If he cried in front of Potter, for the second time in his life, he'd never forgive himself.

"I hate you, Potter," he said finally.

Potter scowled in return, and just as Draco turned away to leave, he said, "you're not even worth the energy it would take to hate you, Malfoy."

Now it was Draco's turn to slam the door.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter! That was a long month, wasn't it? Anyway, this chapter has actually been finished for awhile, but I've been somewhat dissatisfied with it, and as a result, held off on posting it. But now it's up for your reading pleasure...so, enjoy! Oh, and please let me know what you think :)

**Chapter Four**

_Fuck Potter_, Draco thought angrily to himself the next day in Potions. Potter had taken his seat next to Draco as usual, as though nothing had happened. Draco glared at him, just to gauge his reaction, but stupid Potter just continued to stare ahead unconcernedly.

_Well, two can play this game. _So Draco studiously ignored Potter, patiently awaiting the end of Slughorn's lecture, then raised his hand.

Slughorn smiled indulgently at him, that ridiculous moustache of his turning up at the corners. "Yes, Draco?"

Draco seethed for a moment on how the old fucker always saw fit to address him by his first name, as if to prove that _he_ was the one calling the shots. Because of course Draco couldn't very well call him _Horace_, and the conniving bastard was well aware of that fact.

Swallowing his distaste, Draco said politely, "I'd like a new Potions partner, Professor. Please."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise, and peripherally, Draco was aware of Potter's eyes on him.

"Is there any reason in particular, Mr. Malfoy?" Slughorn furrowed his sweaty brow. "Of course, if this is a matter best discussed in private-"

"Not at all," Draco said cooly. "It's just…" he sighed, looking at his desk, then met Slughorn's gaze beseechingly. "Please, Professor, I just can't stand working with someone so, so _good _at Potions. I try so hard to keep up…I just, I think I'm holding him back, Professor. And that isn't fair to Harry." Potter's first name felt alien on his tongue, but Draco made sure not to show it.

Slughorn mopped at his brow, looking genuinely concerned. Draco suppressed a snort. This man called himself a Slytherin? "Oh, dear. Well, I suppose if you feel it would be best…"

So that was how Draco found himself paired, a few minutes later, with Hermione Granger. He supposed it was a relief in more ways than one - Granger may have been an uppity, know-it-all Mudblood whose screams of pain he occasionally heard in his dreams, but at least she could do her share of the Potions work. Which was more than he could say for _some people_.

Draco sneered at Potter as they gathered their ingredients, making sure that his elbow jabbed sharply into Potter's ribs. Potter jumped back, looking startled and slightly dazed.

"Is there a problem, Harry?" Slughorn asked, sounding nearly as excited as if he'd been presented with crystallized pineapple.

Potter stared at Draco for a moment. Draco was close enough to see that his under-eye circles were more pronounced than ever, and that he looked genuinely exhausted.

_Well, good_. Only the knowledge didn't fill Draco with the elation that it might have, once. Rather, it just caused a sick sort of feeling to bloom in his gut.

Potter shook his head, dropping eye-contact. "No, Professor."

"Malfoy." Potter's hand grabbed at his sleeve as they walked back, to which Draco wrenched his arm away.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed vehemently.

"I need to talk to you." Potter's voice was low, furtive. Obviously, it wouldn't do for people to see Potter talking to the likes of him. He remembered, suddenly, the look Potter had always saved especially for him - a look that told him he was worthless, not even fit to lick the shoes of the great Harry Potter.

_He felt sorry for me_.

Suddenly filled with an unimaginable ache, Draco fought the urge to take his wand out and hex Potter on the spot.

"Go fuck yourself, Potter," he whispered instead. "I have nothing to say to you."

He didn't look at Potter again, carefully ignoring him as he and Granger began working on their Influenza Potion. Granger was surprisingly polite to him throughout the process, even praising him on how finely he chopped the Feverfew.

"How is your term going, Malfoy?" Granger inquired briskly, her pursed lips the only indicator of her distaste at the situation. But at least she didn't feel sorry for him…

He shrugged, carefully stirring the potion counterclockwise, waiting five seconds, then stirring it briskly clockwise.

"Fine."

She stared at him for a moment, nearly causing Draco to lose count.

"What?" he finally snapped.

"Are…are Ron and Harry being decent to you?" she asked quietly, biting her lip nervously.

He snorted. "I don't see why you'd care, Granger," he said, in what he hoped was a cold tone.

She frowned thoughtfully, looking as perplexed as if she was solving some complex problem. But of course, Draco supposed Granger might approach everything that way. Finally, she sighed.

"I take that to mean they're _not _being decent to you?"

Draco finished stirring, raising his hand for Slughorn to check their potion.

He rolled his eyes at Granger. "Well, if you must know…"

Granger's eyes widened. "Yes?" she said tremulously.

Draco stared at her hard. "Nothing, Granger. I avoid them, they avoid me - it works out for all of us."

Granger kept staring at him, occasionally worrying at her lip with her teeth. It made Draco feel very nervous - and very transparent.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped.

Granger shook her head, finally looking away. Then for some reason she touched his shoulder. Draco nearly made a biting remark about his robes being soiled by Mudblood contamination, but something made him stop. Now he stared at her.

She smiled at him sadly, then turned her attention to Slughorn, who was assessing their potion.

Against his will as always, Draco sought out Potter.

*

"Malfoy - Draco…will you please just stop for a second?"

Whether it was the pressure of Potter holding onto his arm or the novelty of hearing his first name on Potter's lips, Draco stopped, glaring at Potter.

"Is this how you usually get people's attention, Potter? Accosting them after class?"

"Only when they won't listen to me," Potter retorted, frowning. "Look, can I talk to you?"

Draco snorted derisively. "Nothing's stopping you." Draco glanced down at his arm, at Potter's hand still clutching it. "You know, anytime you want to let go of me…"

"What? Oh, sorry." Potter quickly dropped Draco's arm, fidgeting nervously with his robes.

"What do you want? I don't have all day, not even for the Chosen One."

"Look…can't you just drop the whole acting like a prick thing? At least for a second?"

"What about you, Potter?" Draco asked, puffing up slightly. "I don't recall you being all bright and cheery towards me…umm, _ever_."

"What the fuck?" Potter exclaimed loudly, causing a group of passing second year Hufflepuffs to giggle and exchange glances before ducking away. "I've been absolutely nothing but nice to you since the term started! Your own House won't even talk to you , but-"

"Yeah, I know. You felt _sorry _for me," Draco spat in disgust. "Well, fuck you, and fuck your pity. Just because…" Now, Draco knew he should stop, as his voice was wavering slightly out of his control, but of course, he continued. "Just because you're this great, famous hero, and I'm just…this…this _nothing_ compared to you, it still doesn't give you the right to just…" Draco trailed off, unable to continue. He shoved his shaking hands into his robes, swallowing rapidly.

Pushing past Potter, Draco said, "you're going to make me late to class."

"It's lunchtime."

Damn. Well, that would explain the suddenly empty halls.

"I'm studying at the library…oh, wait. It's none of your business."

"Draco," Potter said quietly, apparently ignoring him. "You make it sound like I meant something horrible by what I said…I didn't. Not like that."

"Actually, _Harry_, telling somebody they're not worth the energy it would take to hate is pretty unmistakable."

Potter laughed humorlessly. "Of all the things we've ever said to each other…I can't believe that _that_ is what bothers you the most. And guess what? I was angry, I'd just broken up with my girlfriend, my flatmate was acting like a complete wanker…that's generally when people say things they don't mean!"

"You've hated me from the moment you first met me! Of course you meant it!"

"Well, you hated me back!"

Draco laughed dryly. "Yeah, that's why I asked you to be my friend, is it?" At that, Draco held his breath, feeling an insane urge to run away. What a thing to say, and to Potter of all people.

Potter blinked owlishly from behind his glasses. "But…I mean…after…you changed your mind, right?"

Draco snorted, looking at the ground. "Yeah, whatever. Thank what you want." Draco was suddenly gripped by that memory - of being eleven, of wanting something that could never be his. And for the first time in his life, no amount of begging and whinging to his parents would make it so.

"You've always thought I was worthless, Potter," Draco said quietly. "It's not exactly a new development."

Then, because he barely trusted himself to say anything else, Draco began walking away in earnest. Away from Potter.

*

_Dear Father, _began Draco's letter, later that night. He stared at the heading, his quill poised over the parchment. There were so many things to say, so many things he could never say. He thought of his father, likely bearded and thin, shivering in some dank cell. People died in Azkaban, or else went insane, like Sirius Black and Bellatrix. A letter from Draco, Lucius's only child, might be just the thing to keep him sane, keep him hopeful. Draco was well aware that his father's sanity, perhaps even his life, was potentially in his hands, yet he couldn't bring himself to write a letter. Of everything he'd ever done, Draco knew that this was by far the worst, and most unforgivable.

A sharp knock on his door interrupted Draco's reverie, and he bristled with annoyance. Potter just wouldn't give up, would he? For some reason, however, the thought sent a small burst of elation churning through him, along with the annoyance. Unsure of how to feel, Draco opened his door.

It was Weasley, not Potter, at Draco's door, and he nearly slammed it shut. He and Weasley habitually avoided each other, which was perfectly fine with Draco.

"Um, hi," Weasley stammered, his face reddening.

Draco regarded him coldly. "What do you want, Weasley?"

Weasley scratched his nose absently, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look, Malfoy, I wouldn't even bother you at all, but I need to know if you've seen Harry…it's getting late, you know. And, well, it's starting to worry me a bit."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Boy Wonder can take care of himself, Weasley." He started to shut the door, but Weasley stopped it with his foot.

"Look, I know you don't give a shit, but I do. And Harry saved your sorry little life, Malfoy, don't forget that. You owe him a life debt."

Draco sneered. "As far as I know, his life isn't in any danger, you stupid, filthy blood traitor. You're right, I owe him a life debt. If you knew anything at all about wizarding customs…which you don't, because you're poor and ignorant, and a Weasley to boot, you'd know that I'd feel it like a physical pull if I needed to help him. Your Mudblood could have told you that."

Weasley's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare say that about her, Malfoy. Hermione is a hundred times what you'll _ever_ be. And that goes for your entire pathetic family."

Draco nearly pulled his wand out and cursed Weasley on the spot, but a sharp cry of "Ron!" caused him to pause.

Granger tugged Weasley away from the door, eyeing Draco with distrust.

"Look, Malfoy, feel free to insult me all you want, because it won't even faze me." She raised her eyebrows slightly. "May I please come in?"

More than slightly taken aback, Draco nodded. Quickly sliding his father's letter under a stack of books. Draco indicated for her to sit down at his desk, as he settled on the edge of his bed.

"I don't know where he is, okay?" Draco blurted out, after a moment. "How the hell should I know?"

Granger nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Draco." She sighed. "It was worth a shot, anyway. It's just…" she shook her head, her brown eyes wide and wary. "I don't know why I would tell you this…"

"Tell me what?" Draco asked, his curiosity piqued.

Granger sighed in resignation. "I know he talks to you…even if you two are fighting half the time, at least he's communicating with somebody. Ever since he killed Voldemort, he's been…distant. Depressed, even. I've been worried about him. Really, really worried. So worried, in fact, that I'm talking to you." She gave a small mirthless laugh, and Draco realized, much to his horror, that her eyes were filling with tears.

"There's something about you that brings him out, you know. There always has been. I doubt he would have always tried so hard at Quidditch in the past, if you hadn't been there to compete with. And you're always staring at each other, seeking each other out in the Great Hall…it's probably unhealthy, what you two have. But, I don't know, it's something."

Draco swallowed. "I don't understand what you want me to do, Granger." He snorted derisively. "Or why it's my problem."

Granger laughed sharply. "In case you've forgotten, Harry saved your life - not just once, but twice, and he would do it again in a heartbeat! And not only that, he's the reason you're here at all, you know that? Not only free, but allowed to attend Hogwarts! You just don't understand how much he's done for you, do you?"

"I never asked him to do a fucking thing for me, okay?" Draco snapped, standing angrily to his feet. "And what's more, I already knew all that! I owe my entire life to Harry bloody Potter, and no one will ever let me forget it, least of all, him!"

Granger regarded him strangely. "That doesn't sound like something Harry would say."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well. He doesn't have to." He crossed his arms, looking down and around the room.

The expression on Granger's face softened. "Look, Malfoy, Harry's always had a bit of what I call a saving-people-thing. He saves people just because…he's Harry. I can't think of any other way to put it. He doesn't do it for the glory, or to always have a one-up on somebody. He doesn't expect anything in return, which is exactly why you _do _owe him something."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?" Draco asked quietly. Granger was right - he did owe Potter, beyond the shadow of any doubt. He might hate it, might want to scream and protest, but it was the truth.

Granger smiled gently. "Just be what he needs, that's all. For some reason, you're the only person who seems to be having any sort of impact on him. And he likes your company - don't ask me why, since you two haven't exactly had the most ideal of relationships in the past - but…just let him save you, if that what he needs."

"What about what _I _need?" Draco asked ruefully.

Granger rose from the chair, regarding Draco thoughtfully.

"I think we could all use a little saving now and then, don't you agree?"

And with that said, she left the room.

*

Draco didn't like to think of himself as the _brooding _type, yet knew that he spent an inordinate amount of time doing just that. It was a fairly recent development - during sixth year he'd alternated between panic and action, and then at the Manor he'd spent every waking moment looking over his shoulder, always terrified at what might peer back. Even back at Hogwarts that following year, he'd still been in a constant, numb state of movement. He'd gone through the motions, even if said motions had made him wake up every night dry heaving, such as the time the Carrows had made him practice the Cruciatus curse on Neville Longbottom.

Draco had hated every second of it, but he'd still done it. And perhaps the worst part was that afterwards, when the students were gathering their things and leaving the classroom, Longbottom hadn't cursed him back, hadn't sneered at him or called him a coward. Still trembling from the curse's aftereffects, Longbottom had asked _Draco_ if he was alright.

Draco had ran to the nearest toilet and promptly thrown up.

Draco knew that his moral compass was irrevocably damaged, perhaps had been from birth. He knew that he'd done very little right, in spite of many opportunities to do so. And that, really, was the reason he'd always hated Potter. For always being better than him, without even trying. For saving his life, without even asking. For saving the world, and not even wanting thanks.

Maybe Granger was right, and he did owe Potter. But maybe it was more than that - maybe he also owed it to himself, to finally do the right thing.

Draco sighed tiredly, his head in his hands. It was late; he'd been sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Potter for what felt like hours, and the absurd domesticity of it nearly made him laugh out loud.

Finally, the door opened and Potter slipped in, wearing an almost guilty expression.

"Just where the hell have you been?" Draco asked crossly, leaning back against his chair.

Potter started, then scowled. "Since when do you care, anyway?" Something about his eyes, however, betrayed his curiosity.

Draco swallowed nervously. "Look, Potter. Weasley and Granger were over here, looking frantically for you. This little wandering off by yourself habit is getting out of hand, anyone can see that."

Potter just stared at him. "Okay. Er, I still don't see why you'd care, Malfoy."

Draco ignored him. "Sit down, Potter. I'll make you some tea."

Potter sat down, looking truly dumbfounded as he watched Draco rummaging around to make tea.

"The thing is," Draco said, as he set the tea down on the table and took a seat himself, "it's just really stupid, Potter. Do you realize how many Death Eaters haven't been caught? Fenrir Greyback, for instance…" Draco suppressed a shudder, gripping his mug of tea. "You can only be the Boy Who Lived so many times, you know."

Potter blew on his tea, eying Draco knowingly. "This is about the life debt," Potter stated flatly.

"Sort of," Draco muttered, looking down at his hands. "But you also saved my mother. You have no idea how much that means."

"I think I do," Potter replied softly. Potter's eyes met his for a moment, causing Draco's breath to catch.

Potter sighed, looking away and sipping his tea. "You don't owe me a thing," he muttered darkly. "Nobody does."

The statement startled Draco slightly. "The whole world owes you, Potter."

Potter snorted. "Don't you start, too. Here I thought I could always count on you to remind me of what a sorry excuse for a human being I am."

Potter was smiling, but for some reason Draco just felt extraordinarily sad. "Is that what you think?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "What is it with you, lately? Can you please just get back to hating me all the time? At least then I knew what to expect."

Draco swallowed. "I don't hate you."

He couldn't look at Potter, could hardly dare to breathe as he took a gulp of tea, swallowing much too fast and scalding his throat.

"I don't hate you, either," Potter said, finally. "In fact, I thought…look, about what I said…"

"Just forget it."

"No, really, telling you you're not worth it…it just isn't true. I say things sometimes, when I'm angry…"

Draco sighed. "Let's just forget it."

Potter bit his lip nervously. It was almost endearing…in fact, it caused Draco's blood to race slightly.

"You really helped me in Potions, you know. I've always been complete pants at it, and I always thought that Snape was just picking favorites with you. But really…you're really good." He said this in a rush, looking down at the table.

"Well, of course I'm good, Potter," Draco said lightly. "For one thing, I know how to read. For another…"

"Oh, bugger off," Potter said, but he was smiling, just a little. Draco had never noticed before, but when Potter smiled, his entire face lit up. He would be attractive, Draco thought, if he wasn't, well, Potter.

But he still wanted to see him smile again.

"I could help you," said Draco suddenly, perhaps too eagerly. He flushed slightly. "In Potions, that is." Then, not sure why, he added, "I used to help Goyle…and C-Crabbe." He swallowed hard, avoiding Potter's eyes.

There was an awkward pause. "Hey," Potter said finally. "I really am sorry that we couldn't save him. I never wanted that to happen to anyone."

Draco shrugged, snorting derisively. "It was his own stupid fault, anyway. Idiot…" Eyes suddenly burning, he looked quickly away from Potter.

Potter cleared his throat. "Er, well, that would be great, though. If you could help me out, I mean. I can…I don't know if there's anything I could help you with, but if you can think of something, it'd be an even trade that way."

"Well," Draco began, anxiously turning his empty tea mug around in his hands. "There is…there is something I've always wanted to learn, but I've never been able to. I want…I can't…"

"What?"

Draco scowled. "I can't produce a Patronus, alright? And it's pathetic, because you've been doing it since third year, so it can't be _that_ hard."

"It's very advanced magic," Potter said, ignoring the thinly veiled insult. "Some wizards never learn to do it…I just had a good teacher, was all." He studied Draco curiously. "Is that what you want me to teach you, then?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, I just thought I'd make that embarrassing admission for the fun of it."

Potter shrugged. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. And sure, I can help you." He grinned ironically. "You know me."

No, Draco really didn't know Potter at all, beyond what he'd always believed him to be. Namely, arrogant, attention-seeking, and an all around prat. But this was a different Potter - one who smiled at him, who didn't rub his mistakes in his face, and had tea with him at half three in the morning.

Unless he wasn't different - unless maybe, this had been the real Potter all along, and Draco had just never seen it.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: First of all, I'm so, so sorry about the long delay. There's really no excuse for it...except that there is. Haha. But from here on out, I do solemnly swear to update more frequently. Sorry for the wait, and thanks for reading!

*

Chapter Five

It was strange, Draco thought, to have a nearly amicable relationship with Harry Potter. Not that they'd been consistently antagonistic towards each other for some time, but it was a different thing altogether to look across the Great Hall at breakfast and exchange glances acknowledging their shared exhaustion.

_See how tired I am, Potter? _Draco wanted to shout across the room. _It's all your fault!_ Yet the thought made him smile slightly.

"You look happy this morning, Draco," Luna said, not looking up from her upside-down Quibbler.

Draco barely resisted smirking. She really was barmy.

"Have you given any thought to the Halloween Feast? For example, if you'll be attending, and if so, are you bringing a date?"

Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "First of all, I wasn't aware that one required a date for the Halloween Feast. And second of all…are you coming on to me, Loony?"

"Oh, you're very handsome, Draco, but you really aren't my type. We don't really have much in common, do we?" Luna said, twirling a strand of hair. "And it's true that most people don't bring dates, but I've always found that on Halloween the stars are aligned for passion."

Draco snorted. "For you?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said, smiling a little _too_ contentedly. Draco shuddered slightly, unable to keep images of Luna in various trysts with Longbottom from entering his mind. He couldn't wait until later, to tell Potter what she'd said.

Potter.

"Halloween is the night Potter's parents died, you know," Draco said suddenly, unsure of why. He sifted listlessly through his bowl of cornflakes, avoiding her eyes.

"Everyone knows that, Draco," Luna said. "It's quite sad, isn't it? My mother died on a Valentine's Day…she was quite fond of inventing her own spells, you see. Unfortunately, one of her spells backfired on her, and it killed her."

Draco stared at Luna, the cornflakes going dry in his mouth. "Luna…I didn't know."

Luna just smiled, the same serene smile as ever. "It's okay, Draco. I still miss my mum, but I know I'll see her again someday. So the point is, Valentine's Day is never sad for me. Sometimes, I'll throw a little party for her on that day - I'm sure she appreciates it."

Draco shook his head, still reeling slightly from Luna's matter-of-fact account of her mother's death. "I highly doubt Potter would appreciate us throwing a party for him."

"Who's throwing a party for me?" Potter asked, grinning as he sat beside Luna.

Draco frowned, embarrassed at having been caught talking about Potter. "Potter, this is the Slytherin table."

Potter shrugged. "Yeah, so? Luna sits with you every day. Anyway, what's this about a party?"

Down the table, a few of the Slytherins regarded Potter suspiciously, but none dared comment on his presence.

"Oh, Draco reminded me that your parents died on Halloween, which is really very sad, and I was telling him about the parties I always throw for my mother on the day she died."

Face flaming, Draco began attacking his cornflakes with renewed zealous.

Potter was quiet for a moment. "Halloween's coming up, you know," he said quietly. "And a lot more people than just my parents have died." He gave a small, desperate sounding laugh. "You know what, Luna? I think we should do it. We should throw a fucking Deathday party on Halloween. We can have it at our flat, don't you think, Draco?"

Starting slightly at the use of his first name, Draco looked up sharply. "Umm, if that's what you want, Potter." He wanted to tell Potter that he found the idea rather fucked up, but it really wasn't his place to say. Not that that had ever stopped him in the past, but still…

Potter grinned. "Great, then. Er, well, I've got to run…I have some things to do before class." He stood up, then stilled, looking at Draco. "Hey, I'll see you later, alright? For our lessons," he clarified, perhaps for Luna's sake.

"Right," Draco said. "For our lessons."

Unable to help himself, Draco watched Potter leave, watched the shift of shoulder blades beneath robes as he sauntered back to the Gryffindor table. He whispered something to Ginny Weasley, who stiffened at his approach, and then nodded reluctantly.

Draco watched as Potter and Ginny left the Great Hall together. Then, incredibly, Potter turned around, looking straight at Draco. Draco stared back, maintaining the fierce eye-contact that, prior to a couple of years ago, had been their trademark. Potter blinked, an almost thoughtful expression on his face.

They continued their odd staring match for several seconds, until Ginny Weasley whipped around, and following Potter's gaze, glared at Draco before tugging Potter away.

Draco raised his eyebrows and shrugged, turning back to his cornflakes and ignoring Luna's questions.

*

Potter found him in the Owlery later, just as Draco was sending off his latest letter to Narcissa.

"Um, hey," Potter said ineloquently, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," Draco replied, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair to ensure it was free of feathers or, heaven forbid, owl droppings.

"Did you follow me or something?" he asked, only half joking.

Potter laughed awkwardly, a blush creeping up his neck. "Oh, no. I've got a map that lets me see where everyone is in the castle." He didn't offer to show Draco the map, and Draco didn't ask. Suddenly, all the times Potter had turned up in seemingly unexpected places during sixth year made a great deal of sense.

"Must come in handy." Draco smirked. "I can only imagine all the clandestine trysts that must go on here, which you've always been privy to. Quite the voyeur, are you, Potter?"

Potter scowled. "I don't use it for that," he muttered, looking at the ground.

Draco smirked harder. "I would. I've always thought Filch must have something unnatural going on with his cat, if you know what I mean."

Potter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Honestly, the thought has never crossed my mind until now."

"Ah, but now you won't be able to stop thinking about it. That's how these things work." Potter was staring at him again, Draco noticed, with that same thoughtful expression from earlier. It made Draco uncomfortable…and slightly dizzy.

"What?" he finally snapped.

Potter started slightly. "You're funny," he blurted. "Just never noticed before."

Draco's mouth felt dry, and his stomach flipped oddly. "Yeah, well…" Ironically, Potter thinking him funny seemed to have the opposite effect on his speech, reducing it to Crabbe and Goyle-like monosyllables.

Draco cleared his throat, turning around and petting the nearest owl. Outside the rain was blowing in torrents, and he shivered slightly as he was sprayed with freezing droplets.

"Your girlfriend didn't seem too happy earlier," Draco began casually. "Then again, if I were a Weasley, I probably wouldn't be too happy either." He smirked, sneaking a look at Potter.

Potter rolled his eyes, then sighed tiredly. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh?" Draco leaned back against a post. "And here I thought you'd be settling your differences, so you can get married and have a dozen little Weaslettes running around. Come on, Potter, it's what everyone expects. Mustn't let them down, now."

Potter smirked indulgently. "Yes, well, they'll get over it, I'm sure."

Amazingly, Potter kept talking. "The thing is, I never really knew Ginny that well. I think I liked the…idea of Ginny, what she represented. I mean, she's smart, funny, brave, beautiful…well, she is," he said, perhaps noticing Draco's look of disgust. "Even your friend Zabini thought so."

"Blaise's tastes often left a lot to be desired," Draco muttered, scratching absently at his wrist. "Anyway, go on."

Potter sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm discussing this with you…okay. So that's all I ever knew about Ginny. That, and she's my best friend's little sister, and belongs to the family I've always wanted to belong to…"

Draco snorted rudely, causing Potter to glare at him.

"Say what you want about them, but they're good people. Theirs is the only family that I can even sort of claim as my own, so…" he trailed off, his eyes darkening.

Draco snapped his fingers in front of Potter's face, and he jumped slightly.

"Hello? Do continue."

Potter looked vaguely amused. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you? I should have known that my humiliating attempts at romance would be funny to you."

Draco waved a hand. "I'm waiting, Potter."

Potter laughed. "Okay, you sadist. Anyway, after…well, after sixth year I broke up with Ginny. I told her I couldn't be with her until I defeated Voldemort." He snorted. "It really does sound stupid and condescending, doesn't it? As if she couldn't have taken care of herself…"

Draco nearly replied that yes, it did sound stupid, but took pity on Potter. He sighed, crossing one ankle over the other. "It isn't stupid to want to protect the people you care about," he said softly. "I wouldn't have found it stupid."

Potter raised his eyebrows, eying him strangely. Draco blushed, realizing how that must have sounded.

"I meant, if I had been Weasley." Even worse! "I mean…oh, fuck. Never mind."

Draco pushed off from the pole he'd been leaning against, turning his face to the frigid wind in the hopes of eradicating the crimson flush he could still feel.

Potter cleared his throat. "Well, so when…everything was over, more or less, Ginny was still there. Kind of as a default. And she was the same person as before, only I'd…changed. And I realized, I knew nothing about her, and she knew even less about me. So…it all kind of fell apart from there."

Potter looked strangely vulnerable, standing there with his eyes wide and the wind mussing his hair. Most of the time, it was all too easy to remember that Potter was a powerful wizard, and had defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. But now…he looked much too young, much too fragile to have ever defeated anyone.

Perhaps having realized he'd just poured his heart out to his erstwhile enemy, it was now Potter's turn to blush. "Anyway, I really was looking for you to see if you wanted to have lessons. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tell you all this. I'm sure you could care less."

Draco blinked, a small stab of hurt pinging through him. And he wasn't even sure why. "You're right, I don't," he snapped. "Next time you want to have your emotional period, maybe you'll have it on somebody else. Granger, perhaps." He turned his back to Potter, suddenly seething and furious. Why, why did Potter always make him feel like this? Always, without fail, the moment he'd let his guard down around Potter, Potter just had to say something stupid and careless, something to remind him that they weren't equals, that Draco had no right to hear about his stupid romantic mistakes...

He heard Potter sigh, and unexpectedly, felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Despite himself, Draco leaned into it, shivering.

"I think I'm starting to figure you out, Malfoy. Every little thing I say, you somehow make it into something it's not…" He laughed mirthlessly. "It's going to be a problem, I'm afraid, as I'm the most clueless person on the planet."

Not looking at Potter made him brave, Draco decided. "Why do you talk to me, Potter?" he whispered, rainwater dribbling down his chin as he said it. "You don't owe me anything…just the opposite, in fact. Yet from the moment we got back to Hogwarts, I can't seem to get rid of you."

Potter exhaled, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Draco's neck. God, he was standing so close…

"Do you want to get rid of me?" he asked quietly.

Draco shivered again, feeling hot and flustered and, goddamit, aroused beyond belief. Not because of Potter, he told himself, but because of another person's close proximity. He was an eighteen year old male, after all.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. "I just don't understand it, is all."

Potter laughed softly. "Neither do I, to be honest." The hand left his shoulder, and he felt, rather than heard, Potter move away. Draco turned around, more grateful than ever to the person who'd designed robes.

"I never thanked you," he blurted, shoving the wet hair out of his eyes. "You had no reason to save my life, but you did." He bit his lip, slightly horrified at himself for sounding so…so…

"You'd have done the same for me, I think," Potter said carefully after a moment. "Now, come on. It's freezing up here. How about we go down to the kitchens and have some tea, then we'll do our lessons?"

Draco nodded, feeling every bit like a drowned rat as he trailed after Potter, and all the more grateful to the person who'd invented robes.

*

"For fuck's sake, Potter," Draco said later, exasperated. "If you'd listen for just a moment to what I'm saying -"

Harry let the parchment in his hands fall to the floor. He sat back, glaring at Draco.

"See? I'm no good at this, I told you. I'll never remember all the properties of moonstone, or murtlap, or whatever else you've been going on about -"

"I'm trying to fucking help you!"

"Well, congratulations, it's not working!" Harry crossed his arms sullenly. "This was a bad idea," he muttered.

Draco sneered. He couldn't help it. "Please, Potter," he scoffed. "You know you're not even trying."

Harry laughed harshly. "Right. Because I would choose to be complete shit at something, because I'd just love to lose out on my chances of becoming an Auror for failing bloody Potions!"

Draco stood to his feet. They had been in an abandoned classroom for the better part of an hour, and so far, nothing seemed to be helping Harry. Draco had assumed that teaching Harry the basics behind potion-making would help him gain a NEWT level understanding of the art, but he'd obviously been mistaken. Harry, for all his knowledge in defensive magic, appeared to be missing some mechanism in the brain for remembering potions. And, Draco suspected, he just wasn't trying.

"Whatever, Potter. As if that would even matter. Don't you want to learn it for yourself, not for a score on some test?"

Harry frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're Harry Potter. If you want to be an Auror, you don't have to worry about NEWT scores…hell, you could probably join now if you wanted to."

"I don't _want_ to be treated differently, Draco! Yes, you're right, but I don't want that! It isn't right, and it isn't fair…I just want to be like everyone else for a change."

Draco laughed rudely, sitting back down. " 'Everyone else' doesn't destroy Dark Lords…or compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament at age 14-"

"-Crouch put my name in the Goblet of Fire!"

"Whatever," Draco said, waving a dismissive hand. "The point is, you're _not _everyone else." Draco eyed Harry curiously, a thought striking him. "You really do consider yourself just like everyone else, don't you?"

Harry huffed impatiently. "I _am_ like everyone else. Really. I'm nothing special…honestly, everything that's ever happened to me has been because of chance. It could just as easily have been you, or Ron, or Hermione…it could have been anyone. It just happened to be me." He sat quietly for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"I really am trying, you know," he said finally. "In Potions. In everything. I'm just…sort of tired." He shrugged. "I'm sorry."

He really did look tired, and once again, Draco felt his guard slipping. It was strange - mere minutes ago he'd wanted to slap Harry out of sheer frustration…and now he just wanted to hide him away somewhere, and let him finally have some peace. Draco mentally shook himself - this was Potter, for fuck's sake!

"Well," Draco said, making sure that he didn't sound overly concerned - which he wasn't, of course. "Maybe if you slept sometimes, you wouldn't be so tired."

That didn't sound terribly concerned, did it?

Harry chuckled. "Of course I sleep. I'd be dead if I didn't, wouldn't I?"

Draco took in Harry's face - the pallor, the under-eye circles - and nodded carefully. "Yes, I suppose you would be. But you don't sleep much, do you, Potter? I've noticed it since term started."

Draco bit his lip, once again indignant at himself for what he'd given away. The Draco Malfoy from three years ago would _never_, ever have admitted to paying that close of attention to Harry Potter's sleeping habits. But then again, that Draco Malfoy had lived in another world, not this strange, topsy-turvy universe in which friends were dead or had abandoned him, fathers were in jail, and Harry Potter was his sort-of friend.

Harry chuckled softly, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. "You don't miss a thing, do you, Malfoy? Old habits die hard, I suppose." He gave Draco a meaningful look. "I always noticed everything about you, too."

For some reason this statement caused Draco's heart to flutter slightly. "Oh?"

"Well, yeah. I always noticed you. Half the time I wanted to punch your face in, but I certainly noticed you." He winced, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Er, I just realized how creepy that must have sounded. The noticing bit, that is. I think the punching part was mutually agreed upon."

Draco cleared his throat, looking at the floor. "I think the noticing bit was mutually agreed upon as well." He cleared his throat again, then snuck a look back at Harry, who was looking at him with the strangest expression.

"So, anyway, I think we've agreed that my current method of teaching you Potions if failing. And also, that you need to get more sleep. Honestly, are you trying to kill yourself? Have you tried Dreamless Sleep?"

Harry nodded, his expression darkening. "Yeah. I don't like it, though. It's kind of like being dead, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know."

Draco stared at Harry. Were the rumors true, then? Had he really died? But of course, that was impossible…people didn't just die and come back to life, even in the Wizarding world.

"Yes, well…it's just sort of weird. If you want to know the truth, I've been surviving on Pepper-Up potions ever since Voldemort died. And before you tell me…I know they're not good for you, that you're not supposed to take them all the time. But it's the only thing that works!" Harry's eyes looked unnaturally bright for a moment, but then it might have just been the light.

"Potter," Draco said carefully. "You're an idiot."

Harry laughed. "I'm so glad I can always count on you for the truth."

Draco snorted. "I'm serious. Did you pay _no_ attention in Potions, ever? Taking Pepper-Up is supposed to be an occasional fix…like, say you'd spent an entire night studying, so you take one in order to function the next day. But keep taking it, and it just builds up in your system, throwing any hope of sleeping out the window. And you have to sleep, you stupid wanker. Pepper-Up is just an artificial fix, and can be toxic upon continuous use!" He shook his head. "It's no wonder you can't concentrate on anything."

Harry smiled. "I'm pretty sure I've never been able to concentrate at Potions."

Draco glared at him. Did he think it was funny that he was slowly poisoning himself like some overwrought Celestina Warbeck?

"You're an idiot," Draco repeated. "I can't believe you think this is funny. As soon as we're back to the flat, I'm throwing all that shit out."

"I don't think it's funny," Harry muttered. "I just…what else am I supposed to do?"

"You can sleep…like 'everyone else'. Stupid fucker."

Harry grinned. "I'm honored that you care."

"I don't," Draco said crossly. "But can you imagine what everyone would say if the Boy Who Lived poisoned himself on my watch? Very bad for politics."

Harry's grin didn't fade. And the fact that Draco wanted to grin back at him was very disturbing, indeed. What was happening to him? His father was in prison, his mother was a step away from living on the streets, and here he was, making nice with Harry Potter. And enjoying it.

Annoyed at himself, Draco pushed his mug of tea away.

"Well, are you ready to get back? I have things I need to do - unlike you, my NEWT scores matter to me."

Harry's brow furrowed in bemusement, and he bit his lip nervously. "What did I say now?"

Draco sighed. How could he explain to Harry what he could barely explain to himself? He studied Harry's face for a moment; he looked weary and eager to please - to please Draco, of all people. To save him, as if that could possibly make up for the countless others he'd failed to save. But Draco didn't need any saving, not really. He'd survived things that would have caused weaker people to simply shut down - he'd endured threats against his life and his family's lives, he'd witnessed torture and sadistic murders, all with the ever-present knowledge that he could be next.

Draco didn't need saving, he just needed to forget. But how could he? The world wouldn't let him.

In the end, he just shook his head in resignation. "Nothing, Potter. Nothing at all."

*

On his way to class the next day, someone bumped into Draco, hard enough to send his books flying out of his hands.

"Watch it," Draco snapped furiously, drawing out his wand. It was hard to determine the culprit, as a group of at least a dozen had formed around him to watch. There were gleeful, anticipatory expressions on many of the faces, as if they had been waiting for this moment the entire term.

Draco sneered at them - at all of their stupid faces - before bending down to retrieve his books. He could hear the words, _Death Eater_, barely muffled behind coughs, and his heart skipped a beat.

Hoping the shaking in his hands was merely his imagination, Draco finished gathering up his books, straightening his back in, what he hoped, was a dignified manner. This was nothing new - he'd gone through some variation of these games from the moment he'd arrived back at Hogwarts.

"Is it true that You-Know-Who fucked your mum?" One boy asked.

"And his dad," piped in another.

Draco glared at them both, then smiled cruelly.

Someone poked him in the chest with a wand. "What's so funny?"

It was a bad idea to speak, a really bad idea. But Draco had never backed down from a verbal confrontation, and he wasn't about to start.

"Oh, I was just thinking. I didn't really agree with his methods, but the Dark Lord had some good points. For example - Muggle-loving, Mudblood trash shouldn't reproduce, and as that explains the entire lot of you -"

Somebody punched him in the face - naturally - but with such force that he nearly blacked out. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, and his ears rang strangely. It was only after a moment that he realized he'd ended up on the floor and was alone, and as he dizzily attempted to stagger to his feet, he vaguely became aware of McGonagall's voice cutting into his consciousness.

"Mr. Malfoy! Whatever are you doing, loitering around in the halls when class has started?"

He blinked, trying to focus on her. This, of course, was impossible.

"Have you been drinking, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shook his head, the motion causing a wave of nausea so intense that he nearly doubled over.

"No," he managed, gritting his teeth. He could only imagine the detentions he'd face for throwing up on McGonagall's shoes. Although, the image nearly caused him to giggle aloud.

He heard McGonagall's footsteps draw nearer, and a small intake of breath.

"Hospital Wing, Mr. Malfoy," she said briskly, and the last thing he felt was a supporting hand clutching his elbow, and the faint tingle of a spell.

The first thing Draco realized, upon waking, was that he was in pajamas, and it was night. He wondered vaguely who had removed his clothes - Madame Pomfrey, perhaps? Or had McGonagall claimed that honor? He nearly laughed out loud, then winced when his head gave a throb of pain.

"Here, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said, bringing something foul and bitter to his lips. He made a face, but swallowed dutifully. For a brief, insane moment, it was almost like being tended to, as a child, by his mother. She could have just had the house-elves do it, as Lucius had often insisted, but Narcissa had had none of that. And Draco had been glad, had felt so happy and loved. Sometimes, he'd even pretended to be sick, just so she'd be there with sweet-tasting potions and her cool hands smoothing back his hair, kissing his forehead.

Humiliatingly, Draco felt tears well in his eyes, and he closed them, pretending to fall back asleep. This, of course, led to really falling asleep, and when he woke again, it was early morning.

"Hey." Harry, of all people, was seated next to his bed, looking as exhausted as ever. "Is it…is it okay that I'm here?"

Draco barely had the energy to even feel incredulous. "I don't care," he slurred sleepily. "Though Madame Pomfrey might have something to say about it."

"I don't care," Harry replied. And it may have just been Draco's imagination, but as he drifted off to sleep he could have sworn he felt somebody brush the hair off his forehead.

*

Draco's dreams were strange that night. Many of them featured Voldemort, and Crabbe, and Dumbledore, and all of the things which he'd tried, through sheer will power, to eradicate from his dreams. Unlike other nights, though, the dreams didn't scare him. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the potions, but he awoke calmer than he'd felt in a long time.

It was still night, and after allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust, Draco could clearly see Harry slumped over in the chair next to his bed. If it hadn't hurt to merely _think_, Draco would have rolled his eyes. Harry's neck was bent at an awkward angle - he would regret having spent the night there in the morning, that was for sure.

"Potter," Draco whispered, fearful of rousing Madame Pomfrey. And why had she allowed Harry to sleep there, after all?

"Potter!" he repeated, when Harry didn't stir. Once again, no response.

Draco sighed. "Harry," he said finally. To his amazement, Harry made a small, spastic motion, then jerked upright.

"What?" he asked anxiously. "Do you need something?"

More than a little taken aback, Draco shook his head no, then immediately regretted the action.

"Here." More of the bitter potion was being forced down Draco's throat, but he truly didn't mind in the least. The potion provided near instant relief, and Draco sighed contentedly upon swallowing it.

"Thanks." Harry remained poised just above Draco's bed, still close enough to touch. Draco fought the sudden and insane urge to run his fingers through that legendarily untamable hair.

"You've had a head injury," Harry said quietly. "You have brain swelling…that's why you might not feel exactly like yourself right now."

Draco felt _exactly_ like himself - never better, in fact. The potion coursing through his system was extraordinary…why couldn't he feel like this all the time?

"We'll talk more about it when you've had some more rest - Madame Pomfrey will kill me if she catches me talking to you right now." And just like that, the warm presence that was Harry Potter removed itself from his bed, leaving Draco feeling cold and strangely empty.

"Potter?"

"Yeah."

"You're too good to me. You're…" Draco felt tears prick through his eyelids once more, and he blinked rapidly.

"Hey. Just get some sleep, okay?" Harry's voice was gentle, comforting, but what Draco really wanted was to actually _feel _him next to him, warm and breathing. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to say this.

Instead, he said, "why don't you sleep on one of the extra cots? That chair can't be comfortable."

"Why, Draco, you do care," Harry said teasingly. Draco heard him settle into the bed across from him, heard the rustle of clothing as he removed his robes and nestled under the covers.

"Course I care," Draco managed to slur, feeling as though he were speaking through a long, spiraling tunnel. "You're the only one here who gives a fuck about me. You're a hero, Harry. My hero."

There was a long silence. Finally, "You'll feel better if you get some sleep, Draco. And perhaps if I cast a Memory Charm on you tomorrow. Because I can guarantee you'll want it."

"No," Draco said sleepily. He felt tears slip down his cheeks again, and he wasn't even sure why. "Why would you do that to me? You hate me, don't you?"

Harry sighed. "I promise I don't hate you. And I was just kidding about the Memory Charm, okay? So, just go to sleep."

Draco drew in a shuddering breath. "Okay. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Draco."

*

Harry was still there when Draco woke up again, along with Granger and Weasley. Even in his slightly fucked-up state, Draco felt more than incredulous. And embarrassed.

"Here to finish me off?" Draco asked, wincing inwardly at how small and pathetic his voice sounded.

"Considering it," Weasley said with a chuckle.

"Ron!" Granger said exasperatedly.

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm only joking. It wouldn't be a fair fight right now, would it? And I've already punched you once, remember, Malfoy?"

"Yes, and that was fair, was it? I couldn't even see you!" Draco once again felt as if his control was slipping - his usual ability to create quick and acerbic replies was gone, replaced with raw, desperate emotions. He blinked rapidly - how long would he feel this way?

"Ron, don't," Harry said quietly, taking his place once more at the chair beside Draco's bed. "Do you think you could go tell Madame Pomfrey that he's awake?"

Weasley left, thankfully, and Draco closed his eyes. Harry's presence at his side was comforting - far more than he could ever admit.

"I'm keeping up with all the notes for you," Granger said suddenly. "I believe I'm in all of your classes - I've always told Ron and Harry they should be taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. You learn so much, don't you think?" She chuckled nervously, and Draco opened his eyes tiredly.

"Well," she said, brushing an errant strand of hair back. "I just wanted to tell you that. And that I hope you feel better."

She looked for a moment as though she wanted to say more, but apparently decided against it. Draco drew in a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She nodded, her eyes watering slightly.

"How are we feeling today, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey asked briskly, brushing by Granger.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he replied as cheerfully as possible. Pomfrey pursed her lips in the guise of appearing stern, but was barely able to contain the slightest hint of a smile.

"Well, I'm afraid to say it, but your visitors are going to have to leave."

Weasley needed no encouragement, looking relieved as he sauntered off. As if on an afterthought, he turned around. "Umm, right. Hope you feel better, Malfoy. The flat isn't the same without you. Your charm, and all that."

Draco smirked, as best he could manage. "Right then. Later, Weasel."

"Bye, Draco," Granger said, giving him a small wave.

"You too, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said to Harry, who, other than standing up, had made no other move to leave.

"No," Draco said, surprising himself. "Potter can stay. Please." He couldn't bear to look at Harry - what must he think of him?

As another person to save, that's what. But at the moment, Draco was too desperate for his company to even care. Or to even question _why _he felt so desperate.

Pomfrey sighed. "Fine. Potter can stay. But you're making yourself useful as you did last night, understand?"

Harry nodded, looking relieved as he sat back down.

Pomfrey then proceeded to cast a variety of diagnostic spells over him - particularly over his head - before forcing what felt like an endless slew of potions down his throat.

"When you're feeling more yourself, the Headmistress wishes to speak to you," Madame Pomfrey said. "And until then, just try to rest. Mr. Potter will keep up with your potions - as he's determined to be here, apparently. The swelling has already gone down, but you may not have complete control over your coordination - or your emotions - for a couple of weeks."

"Great. So I'll be Longbottom's and Weasley's lovechild."

Harry nudged his arm playfully. "Hey."

"Does that mean I'll be in the Hospital Wing for the next two weeks?" Draco asked Madame Pomfrey, pointedly ignoring Harry's hand, which had settled beside his shoulder.

"She said you can come home tomorrow," Harry answered. Draco raised an eyebrow at the referral to their flat as "home", but said nothing.

Madame Pomfrey smiled indulgently. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I suppose my services are no longer needed, as you seem to have everything under control."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

She shook her head. "It's quite all right." She then proceeded to give him instructions for the rest of the day. Draco felt his eyelids growing heavy, felt himself drifting off to sleep. And through it all, the reminder of Harry's presence at his side filled him with feelings of warmth, of contentment and trust. And for once, he didn't bother to question it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! It really means so much, words can't even express it. And of course, to everyone who's added this story to their alerts or favorites…that's a great feeling as well!_

_Anyway, on to the story! And sorry if this chapter is a bit of a downer…I swear that the whole story won't be, once everyone gets over their various issues. _

**Chapter Six **

This time when Draco opened his eyes, he felt an inexplicable shift in the energy of the room - Harry was gone, but replaced with a new, equally comforting presence. It took him but a split second to blink the sleep out of his eyes and identify it.

"Mum?" he asked out loud. The figure beside him stirred, and his mother grasped his hand.

"How are you feeling, Draco?" she asked him quietly. She looked exhausted and drawn - Draco felt a quick stab of guilt for giving her yet another thing to worry about.

"Better," he lied. "Much, much better."

She sighed, the grip on his hand loosening slightly. "Good." She kissed his cheek, her long hair draping over him like a silk curtain.

"I've spoken with the Headmistress," Narcissa said after a moment, straightening back into the chair. "And I told her that I believe it's best if you left Hogwarts. I'll arrange a private tutor, of course -"

"No!" Draco said sharply. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, his head giving a brief throb of protest. "Absolutely not. I want to finish."

"Draco, I do believe it would be for the best. Clearly, you're not safe here."

Draco scowled. "I can take care of myself, Mother. If I can torture people for a madman, I think I can handle a few schoolchildren."

A pained look flickered across Narcissa's face, and she closed her eyes. "Draco…"

"And furthermore, how do you think we'll pay for a tutor?" He held his breath - his mother refused to discuss the diminishing state of their finances with him, insisting that they were fine. Draco, however, knew better. An article had even been published in the Daily Prophet which detailed the massive reparations the Malfoys were being forced to pay to help rebuild the Ministry, as they had personally housed Voldemort. And, Draco suspected, to ensure their continued freedom.

She gave him a sharp look. "That's for me to worry about, Draco. I'm your mother - it's my job to take care of you."

"I'm also of age, Mother. If I want to finish at Hogwarts, it's my decision."

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, then sighed tiredly. "Yes, I suppose you're right." She pursed her lips, but said nothing more.

"Where'd Potter go?" Draco asked after a moment, cringing at how wistful his voice sounded.

"Potter was asleep on his feet," she replied. "I told him he wasn't allowed back until he'd eaten something descent and taken a nap." Now, she looked at Draco curiously. "I'd rather thought that you hated Potter."

"So did I," Draco said quietly.

Luckily, she changed the subject. "Well, the important thing is that you're alright." She paused. "I don't suppose you've written to your father lately, have you?"

Draco looked down at his lap. "Not yet."

She drew in her breath. "Draco, I know this isn't a good time to discuss this, but I really wish you'd write him."

"What for?" Draco snapped. "It's not as if he's allowed to write back." He blinked, tears forming behind his eyelids. His mother had been right - this was decidedly _not_ a good time to discuss this.

Narcissa grabbed for his hand, but he pulled it away. "I'm not a child," he muttered petulantly. "And I don't appreciate being coddled. I want to know the truth about our finances. Father never told me the truth about the Dark Lord, and that's the worst thing he could ever have done."

Narcissa went pale. She lifted a shaky hand to brush her hair back. "Draco, I will regret for the rest of my life that I wasn't able to protect you enough." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were shiny with tears. "Your father made mistakes, and he's paying for them now. But I can tell that you're still angry about many things, and you have a right to be."

Draco immediately felt like shit. His mother had suffered just as he had - more, considering all the times she'd put herself between him and the Dark Lord. And furthermore, he wasn't even angry with her. Honestly, he had no idea _what _his problem was, only that he now felt like the worst person on earth.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing his forehead. His head was pounding - hopefully they would give him more potions, and soon. "I'm really not angry - I just don't want to talk about this right now."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm the one who brought it up."

The door suddenly opened and closed, and Draco looked up to see Harry with a potion bottle in each hand. Glancing between Draco and Narcissa, he went still.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

Narcissa straightened up, her face once again the epitome of composure. "Not at all, Mr. Potter. I was just leaving, actually, and I'm glad to see that you're here to watch over my son."

Harry flushed slightly. Why, Draco had no clue.

"I hope you've followed my advice, though," she continued. "You'll be of little use to anyone if you're exhausted, which I daresay you still are."

She kissed Draco cooly on the check, then rose to her feet. She regarded Draco for a moment, her mask of composure slipping briefly. "I'm glad you're alright," she whispered, giving his hand another squeeze. "I'm always here if you need me."

Draco smiled. "I know you are."

She left, and Harry took her place at his side. He handed Draco the potions, which Draco downed without question. Immediately, he felt fuzzy and warm again, and he sank back down onto his pillow.

"Potter," he said, a thought coming to him. "Does this mean you've been missing classes?"

Harry shrugged. "McGonagall said I could. She said it was probably best if you had someone here with you, at least most of the time. Tomorrow when you go back to the flat, I'll get caught up with everything." He bit his lip. "It's really no problem."

"Of course it's a problem, Potter," he mumbled sleepily. "But thanks anyway."

*

The next week passed slowly for Draco. Back at the flat once more, and with Harry attending classes, there was little to do during the day except sleep or stare at the ceiling. He tried reading, but had flung the book across the room when it gave him a headache. He'd regretted it afterwards - it was a book his parents had given him for his tenth birthday - and he'd spent the next half hour choking back tears. It was a horrible, horrible, existence.

That first day, he finally allowed himself to think about Severus Snape. He wished he'd had the chance to thank him. Draco had practically worshiped the man until sixth year, when he'd become yet another obstacle for Draco to overcome in his desperate, failed quest. Draco had told him he was trying to steal all the glory…he'd never really had the chance to apologize, to make things right between them.

Draco closed his eyes. He had to stop thinking about Snape, possibly forever, as he was beginning to feel sick. The worst part about someone being dead? The fact that you never, ever would have the chance to tell them what you needed to tell them. Draco knew that he would never have the chance to tell Crabbe that he'd been a good friend, or to tell him what an idiot he'd been for getting himself killed. He'd never be able to tell Snape how sorry he was for acting like a prick when he'd just been trying to help. And he'd never be able to tell Albus Dumbledore that yes, he would have accepted his help. If only he'd waited a few more minutes to die…

Sobbing, Draco curled onto his side, hoping to fall asleep. He truly was pathetic. Here he was, alive when others were dead, yet was he making the most of it? Was he moving on or making progress in any way? It was at times like these that Draco wondered _why_ he was still alive, as opposed to someone like Snape, who had done a lot more to deserve it. Not for the first time, Draco could see the rest of his life stretched before him like an endless sand. It went on and on - _he_ would go on and on. In his childhood, this thought had filled Draco with shivery excitement - now, it just depressed the hell out of him.

Draco slept fitfully for awhile, then woke up and attempted to write a letter to Lucius. When he couldn't decide what to say, he ripped the parchment in half and hurled it across the room.

At nearly five, there was a knock on the door. Heart pounding, Draco sat up.

"Come in."

Harry came in, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey. I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing." He bit his lip, glancing around the room. His hair was more mussed than usual, and for some reason this annoyed Draco greatly. Had he never heard of a comb? Or a bottle of hair potion?

Draco shrugged. "Fine, Potter," he said, yawning. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, who was walking around Draco's room, looking at _his_ things, all as if he owned everything there.

"Don't you have anywhere else to go?" Draco demanded rudely. Harry froze, then frowned.

"Whatever. If you don't want me here, all you had to do was say so." Harry stared at him, those green eyes of his practically searing into Draco's soul. "I'll be in my room if you want company." Harry shrugged. "See you, then."

Harry slammed the door behind him, a sound that seemed to resound through Draco's skull. He stared at the door for a moment, trying, wishing to feel angry at Harry, but failing. Instead, boredom settled back around him like a vice, and he found himself craving human company. Even…even _Harry's_ company.

Pulling himself out of bed, Draco crept to Harry's room, giving the door two hard knocks.

Harry, sitting at his desk, regarded Draco curiously. "Hey," he said casually. He appeared to be writing something, but set his quill down. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded, feeling inexplicably warm. He lay back on Harry's bed, crossing his hands behind his head. He could very well fall asleep like this. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter. Well, a few letters, really. But starting with the one." Harry didn't volunteer any more information, but that was okay. Draco closed his eyes, the skritchy-scratch of Harry's quill and the rustle of parchment soothing him. It reminded him of simpler times, times when he'd study with Pansy in the Slytherin common room and fall asleep to the sounds of students desperately finishing their Potions essays.

Draco opened his eyes and watched Harry. His forehead was scrunched with concentration, and occasionally a flicker of some emotion would flash across his face. It was absolutely fascinating.

"I'm sorry," he finally blurted out. Harry looked up from his letter in surprise.

"What for?"

"For being an arsehole. You haven't done anything to deserve it."

"Not lately, anyway," Harry said wryly. He shrugged. "It's okay. Everyone deserves a little alone time now and then." He smiled, then went back to his writing.

"I've been alone all day," Draco said, then cringed at how whiny his voice sounded.

Harry kept writing. Draco wanted to throw something at him. Why wouldn't he pay any attention to him?

Draco sighed. "Who are you writing?"

"A few people," he said, barely pausing. "Really, I'll be done in a little while."

"So it's a secret, then," Draco muttered. Harry appeared to fumble with his quill for a second, but he continued to write.

"I get it. Really."

Harry made an annoyed sound, then threw his quill on the floor. Draco flinched.

"Goddammit, Draco. Maybe it's none of your business who I'm writing, ever thought of that?"

Draco sat up, his entire body shaking. "Whatever. You should have just told me you didn't want me here, Potter. I have better things to do than to sit here and watch you write your stupid letters." Well, he actually didn't, but Harry didn't have to know that. Harry said nothing, putting his face in his hands and groaning.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. He raised his head wearily. "I know this gets old as an excuse, but I really am tired. I have these dreams…"

"What sort of dreams?" Draco asked quietly, his anger fading as quickly as it had appeared.

"Dreams where I die," he answered. "Dreams where people who died die all over again. Dreams where people who didn't die, do." He paused. "Did you know…I was supposed to die, Draco. That was the plan all along. And I was willing to, if it meant saving everyone. But I didn't want to. Doing it…walking to what I thought was my death - it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Draco could only stare at Harry. He couldn't imagine what that must have been like, to willingly accept and walk towards one's own death, when every instinct screamed to run away, to survive…

Harry put his head on the desk. "I'm just tired," he whispered. And in that moment, Draco made a decision. Standing to his feet, he closed the distance between himself and Harry.

"Come on," he said, tugging Harry's arm. Harry started, but allowed himself to be pulled upright and guided to his bed. Draco forced him to lie down, then swiftly removed his glasses.

Harry blinked, his eyes startlingly green without the shield of glass in front of them. "What are you doing?"

Draco pulled a blanket over him. "Helping you, of course. It's what…it's what friends do, isn't it?" Draco held his breath, fearing he'd said too much. If Harry said something now, something careless and stupid, he didn't know if he'd ever recover.

"It is," Harry said, meeting his eyes. "It's exactly what friends do."

Draco barely resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief and smile himself silly. He didn't quite understand what it was about Harry, how this person he'd once detested could now make him feel such a myriad of emotions. But then again, he always had.

He sat back on his heels beside Harry's bed, resting his head on the corner. "Well, I'll let you get some rest, then."

Harry bit his lip. "You don't have to. Leave, I mean."

"You want me to stay?" Draco asked softly.

Harry nodded. "If you don't mind. I mean, I think maybe if you just talked to me, it might help me fall asleep."

Draco shivered, that warm feeling spreading through him once more. It was akin to being drunk. He wondered if Harry had ever asked Granger or Weasley for such a thing, but doubted it. As much as Harry seemed to care for his friends, he didn't appear to rely on them for much of anything. Why, Draco had no idea. Did he honestly think, at this point, that they could reject him for being too needy, too demanding? As hard as it was for Draco to admit it, he had a feeling that either one of Harry's friends would have jumped through fire if he asked them.

But he didn't ask them. Instead he asked Draco - not to jump through fire, but to stay with him until he fell asleep.

Draco nodded. "Okay." Harry closed his eyes, and Draco stared for a moment at his lips, his eyelashes. Their faces were only a few inches apart - Draco couldn't remember being this close to another person in so long. Every time Harry took a breath, Draco could feel it.

"I was thinking about Snape earlier," Draco said quietly. Harry's face twitched. "I never really trusted him again, after sixth year. I never got to thank him."

"I think about him too, sometimes," Harry said, opening his eyes. "I hated him, Draco, but he kept me safe all those years. And when I think about the last year of his life - everyone hating him, distrusting him - yet he kept right on going, to the end. He never got any thanks for it, not from anyone." Harry sighed. "He was the bravest person I've ever met, and I never even knew it until it was too late."

Draco had no idea what to say to that. "You had no way of knowing."

Harry smiled wistfully. "Right. Like that makes it okay."

Draco sighed, full of regret for bringing up the subject. "Potter…Harry," he said with some conviction. Harry's eyes widened, and Draco was once again struck by how intensely green they were.

Draco later blamed the combination of head injury and potions for his next action. Only that could explain why he soothingly brushed his hand through Harry's hair and down to his neck, and why he did it multiple times. Like he was petting a cat. A giant, Potter-cat.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. The sudden exhale of air startled Draco, and he hurriedly drew his hand away. His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins as if he'd just played a Quidditch match.

"That was nice," Harry muttered sleepily, his eyes remaining closed.

Draco swallowed dryly, then shakily repeated the action. This time he tentatively smoothed his hand down Harry's back, rubbing circles with his thumb. He could practically feel the tension melting away as he gently massaged Harry's back, neck, and shoulders, even as doubts about his own sanity increased.

But…for some reason Draco couldn't explain, it was nice. Just like Harry had said.

Eventually, Harry's breaths became deep and even, and Draco knew he was asleep. He drew away carefully, unable to tear his eyes away from this person who had always inspired such strong emotions in him. But where intense hatred and loathing had once resided, now that space was filled with nothing but intense protectiveness and possessiveness.

Draco sat back on his heels, watching Harry sleep. It spoke volumes to Draco that Harry trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. Of course, Draco had fallen asleep in front of Harry plenty of times when he'd been in the Hospital Wing, but it was somehow different. Harry was trustworthy, after all. Draco…wasn't. He barely even trusted himself these days.

Harry was his friend. The thought came to him in a rush, and it nearly took his breath away. Draco had never felt more unworthy, more humbled by another person's trust and regard. In that moment, he swore to do all he could to deserve it.

As quietly as possible, Draco rose to his feet. He glanced over at Harry's desk, where the letters Harry had been writing lay unfinished. He walked past them to the door, a warm feeling in his chest as he glanced one more time at Harry's sleeping form.

Deciding to make a cup of tea, Draco headed to the kitchen to do so. He felt slightly high, and though that could certainly be attributed to the potions he'd been taking, he had a feeling it wasn't. He wondered what that meant for him, for Harry.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so absorbed in thought that he hadn't even noticed Weasley's presence at the kitchen table. And not only that, but the question itself was rather startling, considering the source.

"I am," he said, his voice coming out more shakily than he'd intended. Ignoring Weasley, he set about on making tea.

"Do you want any?" he asked after a moment, deciding it was only fair to exchange civility for civility. Not that he'd ever cared before, but it had been a strange day.

"Already got some," Weasley said, holding up a cup. "But…thanks anyway."

Draco shrugged and finished making his tea, then turned to head back to his room. "Well, see you later, then."

"Hey," Weasley called out, just as Draco had begun walking away. Slightly annoyed, he turned around. Weasley gave him a tight smile. "Umm, so this is a little hard to say."

Draco blinked. "Okay."

"I mean, if someone had told me five years ago that we'd all be living together, I'd have thought they were completely mad. But now we have been, and really…it's been alright."

Draco sipped his tea. It was cooler than he would have liked. Giving a mirthless laugh, he said, "have you considered that maybe that's because we hardly see each other?"

Weasley laughed. "Well, yes. But maybe we should change that."

Draco stared at him. "Weasley, I'd wondered if my potions were doing things to my mind, but now I know they are. Because I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating right now."

Weasley stared at his fingers for a moment, looking supremely uncomfortable. "I just think…I mean, it can't be easy for you right now. Not that I'm making excuses for anything you've done," he said quickly. "You had choices, and you made the wrong ones. But I did something really stupid not too long ago, and I wasn't sure if Harry and Hermione would ever forgive me. But…they did." He exhaled loudly, as if he'd been holding his breath throughout his entire speech.

"You punched me in the face when I had no wand and couldn't even see you. I'd say that sums up our relationship rather nicely."

Weasley laughed again. "Oh, please. It goes both ways and you know it. You never pass up on a chance to tell me how poor and worthless my family is. And you know what? My family _isn't_ wealthy like yours, so you've got me there. I just think…maybe we should grow up. Soon we're all going to be out in the world…Hermione will probably be Minister for Magic or something," a fond smile appeared on his face as he said this, "and I just think we should all enjoy this last year at Hogwarts, have some fun before all the responsibilities set in. And…we have something in common."

"What's that?" Draco asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. He had no idea why Weasley had chosen today to reach out to him, but now, stripped as he was of all defenses, it would be hard to simply dismiss him as he might have any other time.

"Well, Harry. We all care about him - me, Hermione, and you. You don't even know it, but you've helped him a lot. And as he's my best friend…that means something to me." Weasley fixed him with a challenging look. "Don't even try to deny it."

Harry, Harry, Harry. Why must everything in his life always come back to him?

Draco sighed, then sank bonelessly down to a chair at the table. "I'm not denying it. And Weasley, if you must know - and I'm sure you'll love this - my family is on the verge of losing everything. So soon we'll be poorer than you, and you can give it right back to me." He blinked, startled to find himself close to tears. If he cried in front of Weasley, he'd have to kill himself. It would be that mortifying.

Weasley frowned, then sighed impatiently. "No, I don't _love it_. That's what I'm trying to tell you - we should both just grow up. A little bit, at least." He smirked. "It's not like I'm wanting to settle down and have kids or something."

"Lord forbid," Draco muttered. The thought of little Weasleys running around…every single one with Granger's big mouth…it was the stuff nightmares were made of.

"Have you told Harry about it? The money, I mean. Because Harry might be able to talk to the Ministry, work something out…"

"Fuck you, Weasley. Is that what this has been about? You're trying to see what my angle is or something? I'm not…I'm not _using_ him if that's what you've been trying to get at. Maybe you think that I'll forever be the same as I was at thirteen, but I have news for you - I _have _grown up, in ways that you'll never dream of. Do you remember Greyback? Well, did you know he-" Draco cut himself off, his mind finally catching up to his voice. What the hell was he doing?

"He what?" Weasley asked, looking slightly ill.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing." He pushed away from the table, his tea cold and forgotten. "I'm going to my room."

"Malfoy, I wasn't accusing you of anything, okay? If I'd thought you were trying to use Harry, do you think I would have chosen such a roundabout way of asking you?" He snorted. "Maybe you've been around too many Slytherins in your life, because I'm simply not capable of that."

Draco managed to bite back any and all sharp comments. His emotions were simply too raw, too exposed. Damn Weasley. He claimed to not be a manipulator, yet here he was, chipping away at Draco when he was most vulnerable.

"Okay, whatever. I'll keep it in mind. I - I do appreciate it, Weasley. And if you'd keep what I said about my financial situation…and Greyback, to yourself, I'd appreciate it even more."

Weasley cocked his head quizzically. "You didn't tell me anything about Greyback."

"Exactly. Well, talk to you later, then."

*

For some reason, Draco felt like breaking things when he returned to his room. Thanks to Weasley, the pleasant high that Harry had caused had dissipated - replaced by self-loathing, despair…and anger.

He sat down at his desk and began writing.

_Dear Father,_

_Today I realized something. I realized that everything is your fault. Everything. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you sitting up in Azkaban, but I don't. I'm supposed to respect you, but I don't. How could I? You sold us out - your own family! - to some insane reptile-man. For what? You've lost your wand, your dignity, your freedom…and now we're going to lose our money, and probably the Manor as well. When I was younger you were always quick to point out the smallest signs of weakness in me, and I would have broken my legs if I'd thought it would please you. Nothing was ever good enough for you - least of all, me. _

_You've made me what I am now, and I'm afraid it isn't much to be proud of. I have no idea what will become of Mother and I - we'll probably become some pathetic charity cases, or worse. No one will ever want to hire me - the name Malfoy is forever ruined. And you're to blame._

_Your son,_

_Draco_

As soon as Draco put down his quill, he knew he could never mail that letter. But…he felt better, if only a little bit. Yes, if one simply ignored the tears streaming down his face, he felt perfectly fine now.

_Reviews are loved and greatly appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sorry for the long wait - but here it is, finally. I hope everyone enjoys! **_

**Chapter Seven**

Draco felt as if all eyes must be on him, his first morning back in the Great Hall. He hadn't even wanted to eat there - he'd told Harry he was perfectly happy eating breakfast back at the flat - but Harry had insisted that he join him and Weasley for breakfast.

Draco snorted to himself. Insisted? More like coerced. Harry had said that if Draco let himself be scared off, _they _had won. And Draco honestly couldn't care less about that - but he hated to disappoint Harry. Now, however, he was beginning to regret it.

Draco still insisted on eating at his own table, because he wasn't _that_ desperate, thank you. As usual, there was plenty of space cleared around him - a few Slytherins actually stood up and moved further away, as if being pathetic was now contagious. Harry sat across from him with a tight smile, and Luna practically smothered him in an enthusiastic hug.

"I'm so happy to see that you're well!" Luna said, pulling back to regard him with solemn, protuberant eyes. "But you mustn't worry about anything happening again - Daddy sent me Wrackspurt repellent, and I've been spraying it all over the school. I can give you some, if you'd like."

"Is that what you were doing, rather than visiting me whilst I was sick?" Draco asked, attempting to not sound whiny and failing. He hadn't realized how much that had bothered him until now.

"Of course I visited you," Luna said calmly. "You were asleep, but one time you did sit up and say, 'hi, Luna', so I thought you'd remember. Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, here." Luna placed something around his neck. It jingled slightly, and looked as though it were made of spare bits of tin cans all strung together.

"To protect your brain from Wrackspurts," she explained. "It will help you think more clearly."

Draco exchanged a bemused, bewildered look with Harry. Harry shrugged and coughed into his hand, obviously suppressing a smile.

"Thank you, Luna," Draco said importantly, moving the necklace around so it jingled. Honestly, there was little he could do to make himself _more_ contemptible to people, so why not just go with it?

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm making one for you as well," Luna said pointedly. "But I'd say Draco needs it more, don't you think?"

Harry grinned, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I don't know, Luna. I think Harry's brain is pretty fuzzy, so you might want to hurry." It was only after he'd said it and noticed the widening of Harry's eyes, along with his tentative smile, that he realized what he'd done - he'd called Harry by his first name. Not that it was the first time, exactly, but it was the first time it had just slipped out. Now Harry knew that he was _Harry_ to Draco, and had been for some time.

But for some reason, that was okay. Maybe just because Harry looked so pleased by it, and that mattered to Draco more than he'd care to admit.

"If it's alright with you both, I'm going to perform a song and dance at our Deathday party." Luna looked back and forth between Harry and Draco. "We are still planning to have one, aren't we?"

Harry shrugged, looking at Draco. "Sure," Draco replied. "Just as long as there's alcohol involved."

"There will be," Harry said quickly. Draco snorted.

"Good to know. No Deathday party is complete without at least four cases of alcohol poisoning."

Luna guffawed, as she usually did at things he'd said which really weren't that funny. Harry smiled grudgingly, his eyes met Draco's, and Draco felt slightly dizzy.

The rest of the week went by with little incident - thanks to Granger, he was caught up with coursework, and his professors had already been informed of his situation. The other students ignored him, which was a relief. He had a feeling that McGonagall had made a speech inferring of the trouble that his perpetrators faced, and he'd never been more grateful to have been absent from something. The whole thing was embarrassing enough as it was.

Harry didn't talk to him about what he was planning for Saturday night, and Draco didn't ask. As far as he understood, it wasn't to be a big deal - just a few friends, some alcohol, and memories of the dead. But as they were all Harry's friends, Draco was slightly apprehensive about the whole thing. What if Harry just ignored him? Luna would be there, of course, but…she wasn't Harry. And as he'd belatedly realized after helping Harry fall asleep, Harry was his friend. His friend. But he'd never had a friend like Harry before - one who made him feel like a better person just for existing, one he'd do anything for. One who was solely _his_.

Draco had never given much thought before as to what his friends thought of him. It had been obvious - they'd admired him, respected him. Envied him, even. And that had been exactly what he'd wanted, and to be honest, he'd felt entitled to it. Hadn't it been his birthright, after all, to be powerful and envied by others?

But even back then, Harry had been different. He'd never respected Draco, and he certainly hadn't envied him. He wondered, now, what Harry thought of him, and it mattered to him more than he'd ever care to admit. He knew that Harry wanted to _save_ him, whatever that meant, but…did he think of Draco beyond that, maybe just a little?

It was Saturday, the party was that night, and Draco was catching up on homework in his room. There was a knock on his door, and Draco's heart jumped. It was Harry. Only Harry knocked like that…

"Come in!" he called, feeling his face inexplicably flush when he was proven right. Harry smiled, which caused his heart to leap yet again.

What was _wrong _with him lately?

"Hey," Harry said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his robes. His hair was mussed as though he'd been flying, but then Draco knew that was just Harry's hair. "I was wondering - want to skip the Halloween Feast with me, go out for drinks instead?" He shrugged. "I just figured, since we're not twelve anymore, why not do things differently this year? Then we'll come back, be good and ready for the party."

Draco nodded. One less chance to be stared at, the better. "Sure. Who…who else is coming?" He held his breath, hoping that Harry hadn't heard the needy tremble in his voice. _Please let it just be us, please let it just be us…_

"Just us," Harry said, looking suddenly nervous. "Is that…is that okay? I mean, if you want to ask Luna or something…"

"No!" Draco said quickly. Too quickly. "No," he quickly amended. "She's far too excited about the Feast - not really sure why."

"It's Luna," Harry said with a fond smile. For a split second, Draco was jealous of that smile, but then quickly remembered that he'd asked _Draco_, not Luna, to go out for drinks.

A couple of hours later, they made their way downstairs to the Three Broomsticks. Draco was suddenly nervous - the last time he'd seen Madam Rosmerta, he'd performed an Unforgivable Curse on her and forced her to deliver a cursed necklace, nearly murdering Katie Bell. What did one say to a person like that? _Sorry _seemed woefully inadequate, downright insulting, even.

Luckily, Madam Rosmerta was nowhere in sight, and Draco let out an audible sigh of relief. However, it was short lived. The moment he and Harry walked in the door, all conversations ceased; all eyes were on them.

Draco felt his body tense - his chest tightened painfully, and he was acutely aware of his pulse racing through his veins. His hands shook, and he shoved them into his pockets. Why had he agreed to this? He didn't even have the heart to glare back at everyone - he just kept his eyes fixed forward and wished to disappear.

But then…he slowly became aware of the fact that Harry's hand was on his shoulder, and he clung to that awareness like a lifeline.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco nodded, and he allowed Harry to gently guide him to a table in the furthest corner of the pub.

"They'll stare for awhile," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But they'll get over it, I promise. I've dealt with this shit for a long time."

Draco nodded. He still felt slightly ill, but he managed to say, "fuck them."

Harry laughed. "Exactly." He pushed back from the table and stood up. Draco must have looked slightly panicked for a moment, because he quickly said, "I'll get our drinks. What do you want?"

"Whatever you have, I guess," Draco said, digging in his pocket and pulling out a few Galleons, which he held out to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "I've got this." Draco watched him walk to the bar, and couldn't help but notice how every other pair of eyes did the same. Draco bristled - they didn't even know _his_ Harry, therefore they had no right to look at him. At least, that was Draco's opinion.

A few people turned to stare accusingly at him, and he sneered back halfheartedly. But, whatever. Harry returned a few moments later carrying a tray containing a colorful assortment of drinks. Harry shrugged helplessly at Draco's questioning look.

"They wouldn't let me pay," he complained, then quickly downed a shot of something bright green. He made a face, then chased it with a swig of Butterbeer. "I only asked for a couple of Firewhiskeys - _this_ is what they gave me!"

"Poor thing," Draco said, taking a shot as well. It burned horribly, and for a second he thought he might throw up. But it passed, and Draco quickly followed Harry's example and swallowed some Butterbeer.

"I would have thought you'd understand," Harry muttered, looking slightly hurt. He took another shot, chased it. "I don't like being treated differently."

"I was just kidding, Harry," Draco said softly. He took another shot - this one burned spectacularly all the way down to his gut, and he swore it would be his last. "But hey, you get free drinks. If I went up there, they'd probably charge me double. Although the poison would be free," he said wryly.

Harry grabbed his wrist. "Don't." His face was flushed from drinking, his eyes bright. "You don't have to - nobody would do that."

Draco laughed, laying his free hand on top of Harry's. "Harry, Harry. Your faith in humanity is astounding, all things considered. Take who you're drinking with, for instance," he gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And speaking of which, I think we should drink more."

He didn't pull himself out of Harry's grasp, and Harry gave his wrist a squeeze before letting go. Draco shivered at the loss of warmth - the loss of Harry.

Harry placed a bottle of Firewhisky in front of them both, and raised his own bottle, to which Draco quickly followed suit.

"Cheers," Harry said as their bottles came together with a clink. Draco took two generous gulps, causing his eyes to water. He would never make a good alcoholic, that was for certain. _So there goes that career choice_, he thought wryly to himself.

"Draco," Harry said, after they'd quietly nursed their bottles for a few minutes. "Thank you."

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He suddenly cared less about the people watching them, and knew it was due to the alcohol. He also knew that he couldn't afford to completely lose control of himself, tempting though it may be.

"For what?"

"For coming with me. It was…it was really nice of you."

Draco tsked. "Careful, Potter. I have a reputation to maintain, after all." Unfortunately, he couldn't say that with a straight face, and he burst out laughing.

Harry just looked sad, which was frustrating, because Draco was just starting to enjoy himself. "I wish you wouldn't…say things like that," Harry muttered, taking another shot. He didn't even bother to chase it.

Draco sighed. "Honestly, Potter. Lighten up." He resisted the urge to take another drink - just because Harry seemed determined to drink himself into oblivion before six o'clock, it didn't mean Draco should.

"You've been calling me Harry, lately," he said hopefully, staring into Draco's eyes. "I liked it."

Draco gave him a small smile, then started when Harry took his hand from across the table and squeezed it. "Just…just how drunk are you, Harry?" Draco asked softly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not. I mean, a little bit. But I know what I'm saying. And…I think…I think you're a great person. And I'm proud to be your friend. That's why…that's why it bothers me, you know. To hear you put yourself down."

"I'm not looking for compliments, if that's what you think," Draco said, somewhat defensively. In a way, though, he was. Harry's words, though alcohol-induced, rang through his mind like the sweetest song. "I'm just telling it like it is."

"Then you don't really know how it is," Harry said, taking another drink.

"Harry," Draco said tentatively. "Do you think…maybe you've had enough? We've still got the party, you know."

Harry laughed. "That's right! Happy Deathday, Draco."

"Yeah," Draco muttered. He wondered if Harry would notice if he used his wand to Vanish much of the remaining alcohol.

"There are so many to celebrate, after all." Harry held up a hand. "My parents," he said, holding up two fingers. "Even though I never knew them. They count, don't they?"

"Of course," Draco said. Placing his wand under the table, he managed to Vanish the two remaining shots, leaving only Harry's Firewhisky. He Vanished the majority of that, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Harry was ticking away on his fingers. "Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Snape. Mad Eye, Tonks, Remus, Fred. Dobby," he said solemnly. "Even _Hedwig_. Poor Hedwig. No matter how horrible the Dursleys were being, I had good old Hedwig for company."

"Was that your owl?" Draco asked, gently coaxing Harry out of his chair and to his feet. Harry complied, leaning on Draco for balance.

"Yeah. Not just any owl, mind you. The _best_ owl. She was…she was my friend," he said, and Draco realized, much to his horror, that Harry was crying.

"Well, of course she was," Draco said, urging Harry along while doing his best to shield him from the curious stares of other pub-goers. Thankfully, Harry put up no resistance, and allowed himself to be led out of the pub and back to their flat.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said upon their return to the flat. Draco gently pushed Harry onto his bed, urging him to lie down. Harry complied, of course. Draco removed his glasses, and Harry stared at him, his eyes large and sad.

"It's okay," Draco said, as soothingly as he knew how. "You just take a nap, I'll whip up a potion for you, and in a few hours it'll be time for our party. How does that sound?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again, rolling onto his stomach. His voice muffled, he said, "I feel so stupid."

Draco ruffled a hand through his hair, once again struck by its softness. "It happens. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Harry nodded again, then turned his head to look at him. "Never leave me, okay?"

"Never," Draco agreed shakily, unsure of what he was even agreeing to. It wasn't even a valid promise - everyone left everyone, eventually. But it seemed to reassure Harry, who sighed and closed his eyes. And Draco most definitely did _not_ stare at him, but his eyes just happened to fix on Harry for a moment. Well, for a few moments.

"Right," Draco said, looking away. "I'll see about that potion. And maybe then you should shower or something, Potter. You reek of booze and cheap pub food. And don't even get me started on your hair."

"Oh, fuck off," Harry said, smiling. _At him._ It was still so hard to wrap his mind around.

Draco left the room, softly closing the door behind him. He checked the time - only two hours until their guests would begin to arrive. Their guests - the thought was enough to make his gut clench yet again. It wasn't that he was afraid of them, and he certainly was no stranger to being hated. Once upon a time, he'd been secure in the knowledge that he was better than most people, and their opinions hadn't even touched him. But somewhere between cowering in front of a madman and constantly looking over his shoulder, he'd learned terrible truths about himself. He'd learned that he was a coward, that he'd do anything to survive or avoid physical pain, even hurting other people. He supposed that maybe that was the reason he'd always hated Harry, because deep down, he'd always known that Harry was better than him.

Draco shook his head. There was absolutely nothing to be gained by thinking these thoughts, particularly not when their guests would soon be arriving. He'd been off his game for awhile, but he'd once been a fairly decent Occlumens - he'd kept Snape out, hadn't he?

After a few minutes of rummaging through the potions cabinet, Draco realized a problem - apparently whoever had stocked their potions supplies hadn't even considered that the flat's occupants might one day find themselves in need of a good sobriety potion…probably McGonagall, he thought bitterly. Of course she'd be sadistic enough to want them to suffer through it. The old coot.

"Fuck," Draco muttered. He slammed the door shut, then winced when the sound was louder than he'd anticipated. Well, he'd just have to take his chances with a sobriety charm he'd learned back in fourth year. As he recalled, it hadn't worked terribly well, but at least it might take the edge off.

Quietly, Draco reentered Harry's room, closing the door behind him. Harry started, sitting up and blinking. Once again, Draco was struck by how vulnerable Harry appeared without his glasses. He wondered how many others had seen him like this…probably not very many.

"It's just me."

"Oh," Harry said, visibly relaxing. "Sorry, old habits."

Old habits of light sleeping and being startled into waking, or old habits of being wary of Draco? Draco suppressed the urge to shake his head at his own obsessive need for Harry's approval. Seriously, what was wrong with him lately?

Draco sat on the edge of Harry's bed, which he'd done before, but felt strange as Harry was actually on it this time.

"Well, Potter, we have two choices. Either I can cast a half-arsed sobriety charm on you, which may or may not work, or you can stumble around at your party. Your choice."

Harry blinked. "The charm, I suppose? I trust you."

"Okay," Draco said, feeling unexpectedly giddy. He raised his wand at Harry, who didn't appear worried in the slightest to have his former enemy pointing a wand at his head. He whispered the charm, feeling his magic, always poised just beneath his fingertips, releasing and conducting through his wand. After having had such trouble with his wand lately, it felt unbelievable.

Harry closed and then opened his eyes as Draco lowered his wand. For some reason, his heart was beating fast.

"Well?"

Harry nodded. "Better. Half-arsed though it was. I…I can't help but notice that your magic has improved lately. What I mean is, you're really good at subtle spells like this. And subtlety has never been my strong point, believe me. So…I find it impressive. That's all."

Harry bit his lip, and for some reason a shout of _Sectumsempra!_ rang, unbidden, into Draco's mind. Not subtle was a bit of an understatement…but wasn't that what had always impressed Draco about Harry?

"Well, it would be impressive to you, Potter," Draco said. "To see true talent at work."

Harry rolled his eyes, then fumbled for his glasses. Finding them, he perched them on his nose. "You're such a prat. And quit calling me "Potter". It makes me feel like we're fourteen again."

"Well," Draco said, and for some reason he pushed Harry's hair out of his face for him, "I might still have some of those badges."

Harry stared at him, Draco's hand still poised just alongside Harry's face. He let his hand drop.

"Draco…" Harry began, somewhat hoarsely. He leaned forward slightly, a questioning look in his eyes.

Draco stood violently to his feet, feeling suddenly fidgety and out of sorts. He cleared his throat. "Harry, I need to know if you're still taking those potions."

Harry started, looking slightly confused. "What?"

Draco took a deep breath. His heart was pumping erratically - he felt panicked, as if he'd just woken up from a bad dream. But of course, nothing of the sort had happened.

"The potions, Harry. The ones I told you to stop taking. I was just thinking, and I bet that's why you got drunk so fast - you're still on a fuckload of potions…just like I told you to not be!"

The look on Harry's face told him everything he needed to know. Draco gave a mirthless laugh. "Well?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. So what? Just…it's really none of your business what I take, Draco. I'm the one…I'm the one who has to deal with all this shit." He sighed, then looked at Draco beseechingly. "You of all people should understand. I've heard you, Draco. At night…when you wake up screaming. I've heard you. And _I _understand. Please…"

"You don't think it's my business," Draco said flatly, staring at a far point on the wall. "Really."

"I don't mean it like that," Harry said quietly. "What I mean is…you have enough problems of your own. You shouldn't have to worry about mine."

"If only it worked that way, Potter," Draco said, sighing. "I _wouldn't_ be worried, not if you hadn't wormed your way into my life…"

A hurt expression flashed on Harry's face, prompting Draco to shout, "I fucking care about you, okay? So…so, fuck you! Because you obviously don't give a shit about yourself…how do you think it will make me feel? If you…if you _die_, Potter? I fucking hate you, sometimes!"

Draco turned his back on Harry, still breathing hard and shaking. He gave a small start when he realized that Harry had wrapped his arms around him from behind - squeezing him, his head buried alongside Draco's neck.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled against his skin. "I'm sorry. I'm such a fucking idiot…I thought I could help you, not the other way around."

Draco twisted in Harry's arms so that they were facing each other, then hugged Harry for all he was worth. "Shut up," Draco whispered. "You're so stupid, sometimes."

Harry laughed quietly, the vibration reverberating through Draco's fingertips. "Yeah, I know. But you…" Harry pulled back slightly, running a finger down Draco's cheek. Heart pounding, Draco shivered.

"You're amazing," Harry whispered, and then he kissed him.

It was a brief kiss, more a pressing of lips together than anything. But the _way_ Harry did it - his lips lightly, gently touching Draco's - bespoke of a strange reverence. Draco gasped against Harry's mouth, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Harry's back…needing, wanting more. More of _this_, more of whatever Harry had to offer.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, after gently disentangling himself from Draco's arms. Draco swallowed back his disappointment. "Is this…is this okay?" Harry's eyes were wide, uncertain. Insecure. Draco realized, at that moment, that he could so easily break him with one word.

So all Draco could do was nod. Dumbly.

Harry smiled, and gripping one of Draco's hands, pressed a light kiss on the pulse point above his wrist. "Good. I've…I've got to take a shower before our guests get here. Umm, Ron, Hermione, and Luna will be here any minute to help get things ready. So…"

"Okay," Draco said, still feeling more than a little dumbfounded.

Harry's face was flushed, and he nearly tripped as he left the room. It struck Draco then that Harry was just as disconcerted, just as nervous over the whole thing as Draco. And that…that caused a strange sensation to bloom in Draco's chest, and it had been so long since he'd experienced it that he could hardly place a name to it - and then it came to him in a flash. The feeling Draco was experiencing, that he hadn't felt in so long, was excitement.

*

Draco lay on his bed while Harry showered, the sound of the running water nearly lulling him to sleep. He felt oddly at peace for the first time in ages - high on something he couldn't explain. That he didn't want to explain, because to explain would be to question and actively examine what he was feeling. Draco didn't know much about Muggle religions, but he supposed that they must feel the same way, would rather attribute their own feelings of peace and ease to something mysterious and inexplicable. Draco could certainly relate.

Of course, it wasn't perfect. The conversation with Harry regarding his potion use was far from over, but Draco had a feeling that everything would be alright. For him, Harry would stop. _Harry had said he was amazing_…Draco sighed contentedly, letting the feelings of being kissed, being adored, wash over him once again.

It was unfortunate that Hermione Granger chose to enter his room at that moment - well, he had left the door open - and was witness to what was certainly an odd sight. That sight being Draco, flopped on his back with his eyes closed and a stupid, silly smile adorning his face.

"Draco?" Hermione asked worriedly, immediately cutting off Draco's reveries.

Draco sat up with a jolt, feeling as guilty as if Granger had caught him wanking. And _that_ thought certainly caused him to blush, because it brought to mind thoughts of Harry, and thoughts of what it would feel like to touch him, to be touched back…

Granger cocked her head quizzically. "Are you alright? Ron just let us in - Luna and me, that is…have you been drinking?"

Draco snorted, combing his fingers through his hair. "I was just taking a nap, Granger. You know, that thing where you close your eyes and sleep…"

Granger rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're done _napping_," she drawled in a completely un-funny imitation of Draco's accent, "then maybe you'd like to come out and socialize? Luna's excited to see you - don't ask me why, as you're apparently set on being a grouch…"

"I'm not," Draco snapped, reluctantly rising to his feet. Striding to his mirror, he did a quick hair check before hurriedly looking away. He hated looking at himself these days, hated how pronounced his already angular features had become, hated the ever-present dark circles, the sickly pallor of his skin…his hair was the one decent feature he had left, and he'd be damned if _that_ wasn't at least presentable.

"Hey," Granger said softly, and Draco turned, raising his eyebrows in annoyance.

"Yes?"

"It will be okay, you know. The people coming…nobody holds a grudge or anything. And, you know…you'll have Luna. And Harry," she added meaningfully, her own eyebrows raising slightly.

"Wh-what?" Draco asked shakily, but Granger merely smiled enigmatically and nodded. He hadn't noticed before, but she'd prettied herself up for this event - her hair was curled into soft ringlets, and she wore a dress that was actually very becoming on her. Maybe Draco was simply feeling charitable, but he found himself mumbling, "you look nice," before he could stop himself.

Granger laughed. "Thanks, Draco. Aside from that horrible scowl, you look nice as well. Don't look at me like that - it's true. Now, relax." She grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room, and most amazingly, Draco let her.

Granger and co. had made short work of the living room - there were names magicked on the walls of the dead they were supposed to be honoring: Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks…the names easily circled around the entire room. It took Draco but a moment to spot the name "Vincent Crabbe", glowing and blinking with the Christmas tree brilliance of the others, and he unexpectedly felt his throat constrict.

Turning away brusquely, he noticed that a bar had been set up at the far end of the room, adorned with an endless variety of drinks.

"Hello, Draco," said Luna's dreamy voice, and Draco spun around - and immediately fought back the instinctive urge to laugh. Luna's dress was bright orange and loudly announced _Happy Halloween! _in blinking, neon letters. It was so unequivocally _Luna_, and Draco felt a disconcerting wave of fondness for the strange girl.

"I love your dress," Draco told her, meaning it, and she smiled that dreamy, other-worldly smile of hers.

"I knew you would."

Weasley cleared his throat, giving Draco a small wave. "Malfoy. Umm, what do you think?"

Draco nodded, the blinking Crabbe sign fresh in his mind. "It's…nice, Weasley. I'm surprised you were able to do it." He'd meant the remark to be cutting, but Weasley just laughed.

"Are you kidding? This was all Hermione." Weasley sighed, a sickly, stupid grin on his face. Draco wondered, with an inward cringe, if he'd looked like that while thinking of Harry.

"Well, it's nice," he finished lamely. "So I guess I should have figured it wasn't you."

Weasley just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever, Malfoy."

Luna grabbed his hand. "Want to dance?" she asked, using Draco's hand to twirl herself around. "I'm a very good dancer."

Amidst Weasley's blatant snickering, Draco managed to disentangle himself from Luna. "I'll have to respectfully decline…I'm a horrible dancer, actually. But I hear Weasley is quite brilliant on the dance floor."

Weasley's snickering immediately died, and Draco smirked evilly as Luna made her way over to him. His smirk faded, however, when he saw Harry walking into the room, his easy mirth replaced by a feeling of fierce longing. Harry looked the same as he always did - his hair was as untidy as ever, his glasses just as ridiculous, and his clothes…well, maybe Draco _could_ help him with that a little - but Draco's heart leapt at the sight of him, nonetheless.

Harry blinked, obviously just as surprised at the new décor as Draco had been. He appeared to recover quickly, and his eyes immediately sought out Draco, who gave him a small nod. Harry smiled tentatively, obviously still uncertain, before walking to stand next to Draco.

"Hey," Draco said softly, poking him on the arm.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Hey, back." They stared at each other for a moment - everything still so new and uncertain. So exciting.

Weasley murmured something like, "oh, bugger me," after which Granger promptly swatted his arm. The movement served to tear Draco's eyes away from Harry - for the time being, anyway.

Harry gave an embarrassed laugh, nervously running his hands through his unruly hair. "Right. Er, everything looks great. Really, really great."

Their guests began arriving shortly after - Draco recognized a few of them: Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, the Weasley twin who wasn't dead, etc. Amazingly, no one attempted to hex him on sight, and Longbottom even shook his hand. But it was clearly a Gryffindor affair, and as the lone Slytherin (and ex-Death Eater) of the lot, it wasn't long before he felt he'd worn out his welcome. Everyone in the room was busily chatting with one another, laughing easily. Grabbing a Butterbeer from the make-shift bar, Draco took a seat in the corner, watching through surreptitious lids as Harry laughed and nodded his way through a conversation with Longbottom and Thomas. Harry apparently didn't notice - or didn't care - that Draco was sitting by himself, and the thought caused yet another unexpected lump to rise in his throat.

Maybe Harry had only kissed him because he'd felt sorry for him? That was a definite possibility. It wasn't as though Draco was fun to be around, or was particularly good-looking or anything…not to mention the fact that he was male, and a Malfoy. None of it made any sense. He was Harry fucking Potter…he could have anyone he wanted, man or woman. Why the fuck would he want Draco?

Draco closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very nervous - and very unwelcome. He could always lie, make up something about his mother needing him. It wasn't as if anybody would question him - or would care.

A hand gently grabbed his arm, and Draco opened his eyes. It was Harry, of course, brow wrinkled with concern. A tidal wave of hurt swelled up in Draco - why hadn't Harry been concerned a few minutes ago? Why, in a group of people who - for the most part - hated him, had Harry left Draco to fend for himself?

"Hey. What's wrong?" Harry asked. Draco jerked his arm away, sniffing indignantly.

"Nothing. Why would anything be wrong, Potter? Maybe I wanted some time to myself, ever thought of that?" He glared at Harry, willing him to see the hurt behind his words.

Harry sighed. "Draco. Don't do this. These are my old friends - I'm kind of obligated to make the rounds and talk to them. But I'd…I'd much rather be with you." Harry took a deep breath, obviously calculating the risk of his next action, then gently brushed the hair away from Draco's face in a familiar gesture that was _theirs_ and solely theirs, and Draco felt as if he'd melt.

"And you know," Harry continued, apparently undeterred by Draco's words, "you don't have to sit over here by yourself."

"These people hate me, Harry," Draco protested sulkily. "The twin-less Weasley keeps giving me evil glances."

Harry sighed again. "Okay, whatever. But you can't say I didn't try." He made to leave, and it took Draco but a split second to follow him.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, catching up to Harry. "I'll try. For you."

Harry smiled, obviously aware of how much the words had cost him. "Thanks," he

mouthed, giving Draco's arm a squeeze.

_As always, reviews are loved. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys…remember me? First of all, I'm so, so sorry about the long wait. Truly, there is no excuse. It's been a crazy year, though, a lot of stuff has gone on in RL that kept me away. But then, to be completely honest, I sort of lost confidence in my writing ability, as it had been so long. I guess I kind of psyched myself out. But I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, and hoping to have this story finished before the year is out. Thanks to everyone who has hung in there!**

Chapter Eight

Draco woke up the next morning with a start, covered with a fine sheen of sweat as always. After gasping for a moment, he felt a renewed sense of panic as he remembered class - was he late? But then he remembered it was a Sunday, and flopped lazily onto his back in relief.

He spent a few moments rehashing the previous day's events in his mind. One event stood out, of course - Harry had kissed him. However, as exhilarated as he'd been at the time, the thought now made him slightly nervous. What had it meant? Had it been, say, a friendly gesture? Draco didn't suppose Harry greeted his friends in such a way, but then he had been raised by Muggles. And their ways were said to be drastically different…

Draco wished he had the courage to simply _ask _Harry what he'd meant by it, but for the remainder of the night, he'd been unable to. The words had stuck like treacle in his throat, squirming back into his guts like a particularly nasty worm that festered and gnawed. He simply couldn't.

Sighing, Draco rose out of bed, wrapping his bathrobe around himself to ward off the chill. As he made his way to the kitchen, he smelled coffee, and was slightly surprised to see Harry, similarly clad and sitting at the table as though waiting for him.

"Good morning," Harry said, looking a bit apprehensive himself. He bit his lip. "I made coffee, if you want some?"

"Please," Draco said, nodding. "Thank you," he added as a steaming mug was placed in front of him. He wrapped his cold hands around the mug, shivering in pleasure as the warmth permeated his skin. Stealing a glance at Harry, he nervously took a sip, then nodded his approval.

"Not bad, Potter," Draco said carefully. "Never knew you could make anything." He winced the second the words were out of his mouth - for once, his purpose had not been to hurt or cut down, but simply to express his curiosity. Luckily, Harry didn't appear fazed by it.

"I can make all sorts of things, actually," Harry said wryly, taking a sip of his own coffee. "I'm quite a good cook, actually…in fact, if you ever want me to-" He cut off, flushing slightly.

"Well," Draco said in a careful drawl. "If I've survived you as a Potions partner thus far, I think I could brave your cooking at some point. Who taught you to cook, anyway?"

"My aunt," Harry said quietly, frowning unpleasantly for a moment. He shrugged. "Hated learning it at the time, but I guess it has its uses."

"She _made_ you learn to cook?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Among other things." Harry sighed, smiling feebly at Draco. "No offense, but I really don't like to talk about them - the Dursleys, that is. I don't like to think about them, for that matter."

"Oh," Draco said, at a loss for words. "Sorry." He absentmindedly swirled the liquid around in his cup. He found himself, for a moment, _wanting_ to know the story of the Dursleys…or about anything Harry had to offer, really. He wanted to know all the subtleties and nuances that made Harry _Harry_ - then realized it didn't really matter. What mattered was the person sitting in front of him, real and in the flesh. A person was always more than their story.

"So," Harry said, "I thought last night went rather well. What do you think?" His eyes sought Draco's in that same beseeching manner as the day before, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat.

Gathering his nerve, Draco drew in a deep breath. "Harry, I wanted to ask you-"

But just then, Ron Weasley decided to join them, his hair tousled and eyes shiny with sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, rubbing at his forehead. "Fuck me, what a night." And without so much as an invite, he plopped himself down at the table, placing his head into his hands and groaning.

Harry gave Draco an apologetic glance, then patted Weasley on the shoulder sympathetically. "You alright there, mate?"

Weasley made an unintelligible sound, then wearily raised his head. "Harry, please tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me that George didn't dare me to run around starkers in front of everyone we know."

Draco cringed. The memory was one he would happily Obliviate from his own brain, were it possible. Harry smirked.

"I'm afraid so. But he only dared you…you seemed more than happy to oblige."

Weasley groaned. "Oh, Merlin's fucking _balls_, Harry. I bet you he spiked my drink - he'd been talking about a new product he wanted me to test…I told him no bloody way…"

Draco laughed. "Hate to tell you this, Weasley, but I'm pretty sure you were just giving into your innate desire to flash your junk to all and sundry." He grimaced. "Believe me, it wasn't pretty. In fact, I feel kind of bad for you - do you have some sort of birth defect that discouraged growth in, er, certain regions of your person?"

Weasley flushed bright crimson. "Shut up, Malfoy. I'll have you know I haven't gotten any complaints. So piss off."

Harry coughed, covering his face with his hands. "Too much information, Ron. Really, really too much information."

Weasley chuckled at that. "That can't be worse than knowing you and Malfoy are-"

Harry coughed again, this time with obvious intent, and Weasley's eyes widened. "Er, right. You and Malfoy are…drinking buddies. Right." He flushed again, then yawned rather loudly. "Well, I'm actually knackered. I think I'll just go back to bed." He stood shakily to his feet, clutching his head with the motion. "If Hermione comes by…well, tell her I'm sorry. About the whole everyone-seeing-my-bollocks thing, and all. Well," he looked back and forth between Harry and Draco, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. "Right."

Without further ado, Weasley stumbled back to his room, the occasional explitive ringing out through the flat.

Harry smiled at Draco. "Well. That was interesting."

Draco groaned. "Honestly, I'd tried hard to purge that image from my memory…I didn't even know one could have so many freckles on their arse! I mean, I wasn't aware it was humanly possible…"

Harry was laughing, clutching the table for support. "Draco…you should have seen your face, though."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you must know, I would hope to find my own face a vast improvement over Weasley's pasty, underdeveloped, freckled body." He shuddered, but found himself laughing as well. It really had been quite funny.

"Hermione was mortified," Harry managed to choke out. "And then Luna had to make that comment about how there wasn't anything wrong with the naked human body…I think we all about lost it, then."

"Right after I'd lost whatever I'd eaten for the day, that is," Draco replied, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. It felt good to laugh…he hadn't laughed like this in forever, years, probably.

Harry grinned at him from across the table, the laugh lines at his mouth contrasting dramatically with the tell-tale dark circles beneath his eyes. At that thought, Draco felt his smile fading, and once again took a breath of resolve.

"Harry, I want to talk to you about the potions you're taking."

Harry's grin faded as well, and Draco felt an unpleasant stir of regret at being the one to make it so. He'd liked seeing Harry laugh - more than he'd ever care to admit.

"Okay," Harry said, biting his lip nervously.

"Well, I'll spare you the lecture," Draco began, "because despite my many inferences to the contrary, I _know_ you're smarter than this, Harry. But also, having studied at Potions…a little more intensively than you through the years - I think it's safe to say - I know how particular potions can interact with each other, how they can build up like poison in your system. So I have to know…need to know, that is, what you're taking, how much, that sort of thing."

Harry sighed, looking down at his fingers for a moment. "You remember how I used to disappear at night and nobody knew where I was?"

Draco nodded, remembering all too well. "Yeah."

"Well, sometimes I was visiting my godson, Teddy. That's how I cleared it with McGonagall, you see - the whole leaving the grounds thing. But usually, once I'd visited for awhile, I'd make a stop in Knockturn Alley."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Are you stupid, Potter? Do you have any idea who could still be creeping around there, just waiting for their chance to get at the Boy Who Lived?" Fenrir Greyback, as usual, popped to the forefront of Draco's mind - the thought of Harry at his mercy, being torn to shreds, was unbearable.

Harry closed his eyes. "I know. But believe it or not, I did take precautions. I used my Invisibility Cloak to get around, until I'd get to wherever I needed to go."

"And where was that, exactly?" Draco asked scathingly, hoping to see Harry flinch. It didn't work. Harry simply stared at him, his face resigned, impassive.

"Various apothecaries. Places where I could get stuff…discreetly, without the bloody Daily Prophet getting wind that their hero can't sleep…can't stay awake, either. I don't know the name of all the potions - I just know they help. I can't sleep, you see - nightmares," he said softly. "And as much as I hated the idea of Dreamless Sleep, I did use it a few times, but then Madam Pomfrey told me I was getting too dependent on it, and she couldn't give it to me anymore. So I use whatever it is they give me - it keeps me up for days, sometimes, and I don't feel tired. Then when I do finally crash from it, my body's too exhausted to dream. So I didn't lie to you, Draco. I _did _throw away all my Pepperup potion."

Draco sighed. Harry was staring at him, those big fucking green eyes of his begging, cajoling Draco not to judge him…and Draco didn't. Who was Draco, after all, to judge anybody?

Bravely, Draco reached across the table for Harry's hand, which Harry grabbed like a lifeline. "Have you considered going to St. Mungo's? Or explaining the entirety of your situation to Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "You're the only person I've told. And I didn't even want to tell you…I don't want people to worry about me."

"Why?" Draco asked hoarsely, rubbing his thumb along the back of Harry's hand. "Don't you think you deserve - as much as anybody - to get help, to be happy?" Draco was keenly aware of the irony of asking that question to another person - but unlike Draco, Harry actually _did_ deserve those things, and so much more.

When Harry's haunted eyes told him all he needed to know, Draco sighed. "Well. Right, then." He rubbed at his eyes with his spare hand. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to attempt to make a potion for you, one that will help you sleep, give you nothing but good dreams, all that fluffy shit. And best of all, it's decidedly _non_-addictive. I say _attempt_ because I can't promise it will work - it's a tricky potion to make, takes about a week to brew…and I'm sadly lacking in the ingredients. Now, I wouldn't be above raiding Slughorn's personal stores, would you?"

Harry smiled, looking inexplicably close to tears. "Am I ever above breaking the rules, Draco?"

"Good point," he conceded, watching Harry carefully. Draco shook his head. "I can't believe you'd trek about Knockturn fucking Alley…by yourself, no less, when all along you've had other options."

"It's hard to ask for help," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, it is," Draco agreed. They sat in silence for a few moments. Draco drained the remaining dredges of his coffee, grimacing slightly in the process.

"Do you want more?" Harry asked eagerly. "Or maybe tea? Or I could cook you something if you'd like-"

"Harry!" Draco interrupted. He shook his head, bemused. "I'm fine, really."

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling sheepishly. "I'm sort of…that is to say…" He snorted derisively. "Fuck, I'm horrible at this. Always have been."

"At this?" Draco asked, holding his breath.

Harry nodded, looking supremely uncomfortable. He then took a deep breath, appearing to draw on every ounce of that famed Gryffindor courage. "You know…_this_. I - I really like you, Draco." He let out a lengthy sigh. "There, I've said it. Wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I assume that was a rhetorical question," Draco said shakily, still reeling.

Harry laughed, sounding on the verge of hysterics. "Well, are you going to, er, say anything else?"

Draco laughed as well, uncomfortably. "I…" He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I think you're mad, quite honestly. But…I guess I do. Like you - a little."

Harry smiled. "A little, huh? It's always nice to feel appreciated."

"You know what I mean," Draco said, his words coming out more snappish than he'd intended. Making sure to soften his tone, he added, "it's hard for me-"

"I know," Harry cut in. "Draco, I know." Reaching across the table, he joined their hands once more. "This will sound fucked up, I know, but I've fancied you for months, I suppose. Ever since I saw the visions - through my scar - of Voldemort making you torture people-"

Draco frowned, nearly snatching his hand away. "You're right, Potter. That _is _fucked up. Extremely so."

"Let me finish! What I meant to say was, I'd remember your face. What it looked like."

"I was terrified," Draco said quietly, looking down at the table.

"Yes, of course," Harry persisted. "But Draco, I could look at you and _see_ that you hated every second of it - you hated hurting people." Harry gulped. "Hermione's often said I have a bit of a saving people thing, and I reckon she's right. Because I thought about that a lot, at first. Saving you. But then…I just started thinking about you. I couldn't get your face out of my mind."

Draco was silent, looking down contemplatively at their joined hands. "And now?" he said finally. "Do you still want to _save me_, Potter?"

Harry smiled, somewhat sadly. "I don't think life is that simple anymore. There aren't real heroes, real villains…just people in various degrees of fucked up."

Draco chuckled at that. "I wonder where we'd fall on that scale?" Then, because Harry suddenly looked so uncertain, he took a chance. Sprawling across the table, he gently brought his mouth to Harry's, bringing up his hands to cup his face. Harry made a low murmuring sound, his mouth opening to Draco's. Draco moaned his approval, his hands threading through Harry's hair, smoothing down to his neck. The mouth against his was hot and wet, tasted of coffee, and Draco felt a jolt travel down his spine when their tongues brushed against each other.

The fear set in unexpectedly, just as Draco became aware of the straining erection trapped between his body and the table, and of Harry's hands, which had traveled down his back and were now gripping his arse. Immediately, Draco slid off the table and back to his chair, his breathing rather unsteady.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, appearing slightly dazed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Too much," Draco managed to pant, hoping the explanation would suffice. "I just…can't, right now, Harry." Face burning, he stared at the tabletop.

"It's okay," Harry said. He grabbed Draco's hand again, and Draco grudgingly looked up. Harry's pupils were dilated, yet his green eyes were as open as Draco had ever seen them.

"It's okay," he repeated. "For the first time in my life, I can say we have all the time in the world."

"Not to mention it would have been rather awkward, had Weasley walked in," Draco added quickly, still reeling slightly.

Harry smirked. "Yeah. You've got a point." He cleared his throat. "So."

Draco swallowed dryly. "Right." He glanced down at their joined hands, feeling suddenly incredibly awkward and self-conscious. "Sorry," he said, pulling his hand away.

"For what?" Harry asked. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Right." He gave Draco a small smile. "Well, at least you didn't cry."

"What?"

"Sorry, bit of an inside joke. Er, with myself."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're so weird, Potter." He sighed. "So, how long have you been, you know, interested in men?"

Harry chuckled, looking a little uncomfortable. "I don't know that I have been. It's always been girls - but I did find Bill Weasley attractive when I was fifteen."

"A Weasley?" Draco asked incredulously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, a Weasley. They don't have the plague or something, Draco. I'll have you know Bill was very fit, very attractive, before -" Harry trailed off, eyes widening slightly, and Draco made a sickening realization.

"Is that the Weasley that Greyback tore up?" Draco asked, somehow able to keep his voice steady.

"Er, yes. But-"

"I didn't know, okay?" Draco blurted out, then cringed. For some reason, it was important that Harry understand this. "I didn't know Greyback was going to be there."

"I know," Harry said softly. "And we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Good," Draco said, steadying his breaths. "Because I don't want to. Not right now, anyway. Kind of like how you don't want to talk about your Muggles."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. So, have you always liked men? Oh, and by the way, that bit about finding Bill attractive - please keep it to yourself."

Draco smirked. "Trust me, I'd rather forget it completely. And yes, I've known since third year."

"How did you know?"

"Oh, the usual. I started fantasizing about seeing Hagrid naked, that sort of thing," he deadpanned. Harry snorted.

"Seriously, though. I just…knew. It was never really an issue for me. What was an issue, though - and I guess it's safe to tell you now - I had quite the crush on you during fourth and fifth year. I would never have admitted it on pain of death, mind you."

Harry snorted again. "Really? But you…you hated me! You were a complete and utter bastard to me!"

Draco chuckled. "Well, yes. I did hate you. But if you'd pushed me into an empty broom-closet and started snogging me senseless, I doubt I would have objected."

"No, you probably would have just figured out a way to use the situation to your advantage. Secretly photographed said snogging session or something."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Potter. What could that have possibly accomplished, other than outing myself along with you? You're lucky you weren't a Slytherin."

Harry cleared his throat, looked surprisingly thoughtful for a moment. Draco wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Actually," Harry said, finally. "I nearly was. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I begged it not to."

"Why?" Draco asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"Well…because of you." Harry bit his lip, smiling sheepishly. "I guess you've always had an influence over me, whether I liked it or not."

"You too," Draco breathed, looking down. Truer words had never been spoken, for everything in his life, since age eleven, had always come back to him. To Harry. Draco nearly opened his mouth and spilled everything - how he'd wanted to be his friend more than anything in the world, how he'd spent many a sleepless night in the Slytherin dormitories thinking about him, how everything he'd done up until sixth year had been to gain Harry's attention - but didn't. Once again, it was too much.

But Harry captured his hand, squeezed it, and Draco supposed that on many levels, he already knew.

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